Crash and Yearn
by kandisi
Summary: "We can't both crash here, so someone's gotta fly, or someone's gonna die." When Peter allows Hesam to temporarily crash at his apartment, Sylar puts on quite the ridiculous show in an effort to convince Hesam to vacate the apartment and Peter's life. However, the plan turns when Sylar and Hesam get a little too close Peter's liking... Slash, Peter/Sylar.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Crash and Yearn

 **Characters/Pairings:** Peter, Sylar, Hesam, Peter/Sylar, Emma, Claire

 **Rating:** R

 **Summary:** "We can't both crash here, so someone's gotta fly, or someone's gonna die." When Peter allows Hesam to temporarily crash at his apartment, Sylar puts on quite the ridiculous show in an effort to convince Hesam to vacate the apartment and Peter's life.

 **Warnings:** Crackfic, some language, slash

 **Timeset:** Post-season four.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Heroes in any way shape or form, and do not make any money off writing this; it was just for fun and to pass free time.

 **A/N:** This is one of those fics which was originally meant to be shorter but transpired into something way longer than I had intended. :P

 **Crash and Yearn**

0.0.0

 **.0.**

§

"I don't... think that's such a good idea... Uh-huh. I know that. Really? Yeah. I know, but you really don't wanna stay here. Why not? Well, it's pretty small, and I've already got that... 'other friend'... crashing here, you know? That may be, but... Oh I know... Yes, I do. Alright, you can. Sure, you can bring the X-Box. Fine, the X-Box "360", I mean. Okay, see you then. Bye."

Peter set his cellular phone on the nightstand.

"Peter... _please_... _no_..."

"I'd say that was a yes in disguise, but something tells me you're not in the mood for jokes right now..."

"If I understood the nature of that call correctly, then the only thing I am in the mood for as of now is to _leave_."

Sylar turned over onto his right-side.

Peter turned over onto his right-side as well, softly running the palm of his hand down Sylar's outer arm in a comforting display of affection. "But we didn't even get started yet..."

"Yes," Sylar said under his breath, shaking off Peter's touch, "because you chose to take that _stupid_ call instead."

"Don't be like that," Peter whispered, moving closer to Sylar from behind. "It's only for five days..."

Sylar rolled his eyes, muttering, "I hate that guy."

"What? You've never even met him."

"That's irrelevant. From what you've told me, he sounds like a moron, or, a 'fruitcake' to be more specific."

Peter chuckled, leaning forwards as he sighed against the skin of Sylar's shoulder blade. "You would feel the same way if it were anyone else."

"Actually, that's not true," Sylar stated. It was _long_ overdue that he got a particular point across. "Had it been Mohinder, Hiro, Noah, or Matt, yes, I would still be _extremely_ displeased, but at least they all know the _truth_. All of your friends from our 'special' circle do, but friends of yours like this 'Hesam' guy think I'm... what – your _'friend from out of town you knew in nursing school who's 'crashing' at your apartment for several weeks_ '?"

"Sylar..." Peter exhaled a soft breath against the back of Sylar's neck, his palm caressing its way down Sylar's bicep once again. He was so tired of talking about this particular subject, but it seemed every conversation he had with Sylar inevitably led back to it, especially when they were in bed.

"I don't really... know exactly what we are, really," Peter said, sighing between words, "but we're not... you know, partners or anything like that... Anyhow, I don't really wanna talk about this again right now, okay?"

"That's fine."

Peter thought everything _was_ fine... until – for reasons he _still_ couldn't understand – Sylar got out of bed and began to get dressed the second Peter tried to "make a move".

Peter groaned and flopped down to his back, looking up at the starless-sky that was his ceiling. "You've been here for less than two weeks and you're already..." He touched his forehead as if he were checking for a fever. "Ugh," he groaned, running his hand back through his dark fringe of hair. "Pretty soon you'll be dancing around in an apron, spinning around and having supper on the table for me when I get home from work."

"The hell?" Sylar griped, turning away from the wall and towards the bed and the person on it. "I have _no_ intentions of becoming your 'wife', Peter."

"Sylar, the first night after I let you move-in, you suggested _we_ move and buy a house," Peter said, before he turned onto his right side once again and made eye-contact with Sylar. "You currently don't have a real job. You fix the meals and wash all the dishes. You _rarely_ use your abilities anymore."

Sylar had been walking across the room to pick his shirt up from the floor, but—upon hearing Peter's words—he stopped in place... gathering the shirt through the use of telekinesis instead.

"You wear baby blue and _plaid_ ," Peter added.

"I want you to _shut_ _up_ , Peter." Sylar hissed, and then promptly began to put his shirt back on. "We've been over all of that blatant _idiocracy_ of yours before. I'm _only_ trying to be a better person now, and, quite frankly, you're _not_ the only one who's having an identity crisis here."

"Well, you're the expert on it."

"Fuck 'it'."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Pssh, I was going to until you got out of bed."

Sylar growled, while Peter found himself pinned in place quite abruptly, though unfortunately not through the use of physical touch...

Still...

" _Finally_ ," Peter said with a strange mixture of sarcasm and enthusiasm.

However, Sylar had caught on. Peter was trying to provoke an argument just to promote him to get back into bed. He would definitely give Peter _half_ of what he was aiming for.

"When your 'paramedic' partner arrives, tell me how, _exactly_ , you plan on keeping 'whatever we are' a secret from him," he said, keeping Peter bound in place while summoning his glasses into his hand from the nightstand.

"I..." Peter stammered, "I... honestly thought that-that..."

"'That-that' 'I-I' would 'crash-crash' somewhere else so _Hesam_ could 'crash' here?"

Sylar put his black-framed glasses on, and then smirked accusingly at the other man.

Peter's eyes shifted a little. "But it's _only_ for five days," he repeated earnestly.

"I don't give damn if it's for _five seconds_ , I'm _not_ going anywhere and that idiot is _not_ staying here with _you_."

"This is _still_ my apartment and I _still_ pay the bills so _I_ make the decisions about things like that!"

Sylar was going to retort, when instead he looked away to whisper, "Holy shit..."

"What?"

Sylar began to unbutton his plaid, baby blue shirt.

Peter huffed. "Look, we really don't have to do this right now if you... wait a second, what are you doing in the closet?"

"I'm changing my clothes, what's it look like?"

"Uh, like you're trying to change your mind along _with_ your clothes."

Unseen to Peter, Sylar rolled his dark eyes, hanging up that plaid shirt of his in favor of a more... traditional black shirt... one he had worn in his darker days. During that little spat him and Peter had just participated in, he had realized and rationalized a _very_ sad truth...

He _had_ sounded like Peter's 'wife', and that was _n't_ acceptable. Come to think, when it came to something _else_ Peter had said...

Sylar turned around. "Peter, you've mentioned a certain alternate future to me a number of times, but you've never divulged the exact nature of it to me..." He eyed Peter suspiciously. "You only said that in it, you took my base ability of intuitive aptitude—which I _needn't_ remind you _is_ by far the _stupidest_ and most self-destructive thing you've _ever_ done to yourself—and you would never say anything more to me about it..."

His expressions turned serious, arms folding across his chest.

Quickly, Peter said, "I've told you already that it's really not important."

"I don't care, and I'll be judge of that," Sylar said, his voice lowering to a dark whisper, "I want to know what you saw of me there, and you are going to tell me unless you want the _other_ empathy trick pulled on you..."

Damnit, Peter thought, as he _hated_ the 'other' empathy trick... He felt the force of Sylar's telekinetic bonds increasing, knowing that he had to speak up unless he wanted to look up at the ceiling from the floor beneath the bed... that is, if his body made it past the innersprings without _too_ much damage. Oh, wait... his current ability was...

 _Damnit_ , Peter thought, _not healing, not now!_

"You were nuts," he said hastily, having decided he liked staring at the ceiling from on top of the bed _just_ fine.

"Peter, I would _never_ allow you to take my hunger now, nor would I have in the past," Sylar said with firmness. "You know that, and I know that because _that's_ the only one of my abilities that you're _not_ welcome to. _Period_."

"So, what's your point?" Peter asked. He had heard that before. Honestly, it was one rule of Sylar's he had _no_ desire to break.

Sylar shook his head slightly. "My point is the fact that since I actually _allowed_ you to take my ability in whatever future you saw indicates that although I may have been 'nuts' for permitting you to knowingly _damn_ yourself, I must have been _desperately_ 'nice' enough to help you..."

Peter stared up at the starless-sky that was his ceiling still more. "I walked into your house," he said, sounding monotone and robotic, "Where you saw me, threw your arms around me, tightly, cupped my face in your hands, and... and giggled over waffles with Mr. Muggles... _before_ you spun around in a navy-blue apron that something on it like "hail to the chef" and then danced your way into a kitchen..."

"... _Excuse me_?" Sylar frowned, disgusted.

"Yes," Peter replied in that same, robotic voice, sighing loudly. "I nearly fainted from horror, because I thought we were... married or something," he whispered uncomfortably. "Even in spite of that future you's comment about how it was _so_ good to see me again after so long, and how you said if you had known I was coming, you would have made me some... waffles..."

Before the other man could ask if there was any more to the story, Peter added, "And before you ask me if there was any more to the story, _don't_ , because I'm _not_ evil enough to tell you, and I _never_ will be, even if you _do_ impale me with innersprings, I _still_ won't tell you, so _drop_ it." He closed his eyes tightly. " _Please_..."

Peter couldn't tell him that. _Not_ that. Not about his _son_... the son who had died because of Peter... if only he... hadn't visited Gabriel Gray in the future at all, then maybe...

"I really don't see how the story can get much worse than what you just told me," Sylar muttered. He respected Peter's secrecy regarding the 'full' story, however, even though he _did_ know he'd had a son in the future by one Elle Bishop and that he had detonated the entire city of Costa Verde once Knox had killed his child. Peter had told Nathan, and Sylar still had near to _all_ of Nathan's memories. Nevertheless, it seemed Peter had failed to tell even Nathan the more... grotesque details...

Nonetheless, Sylar knew certain things about the future never changed: namely, destiny. If a person was destined to become something or someone, or a certain event was destined to happen, it was _going_ to happen; whether the past was changed or not.

Hell, Sylar figured Peter could go back in time and kill himself if he wanted out of this relationship badly enough, and still, _somehow_ , all the powers of the universe would unite and get them back together. For reasons such as this, Sylar believed that time-traveling for Nathan's sake would work out the same way – he _was_ destined to die young, if not by Sylar's hands, then _through_ some other means.

So _philosophically_ , that meant if Sylar was _destined_ to endure the annoyance that _was_ Hesam's intrusion into his life for several days, it was inevitably _going_ to happen in one way or another, so...

"Let's get it over with..."

"What? I didn't hear that." Peter frowned. "...are you rationalizing again?"

Sylar only continued to change.

Peter's frown remained. " _Are_ you?"

After pulling up the black pants he had slipped into, Sylar stated, "I'm going out for awhile."

"Where to?"

Sylar walked his way to the bedroom doors, and looked over his shoulder. "Not to do the grocery shopping or to pick up the laundry for you, _that's_ for sure."

"Sylar, you just _stop_ right there," Peter demanded. He didn't know where Sylar was actually planning to go, much less what he was actually planning to _do_...

"Humph." Sylar released Peter from the telekinetic hold, and headed into the kitchen.

"Sylar, I'm _talking_ to you," Peter said in a threatening manner. He groaned, and with incredible haste, hopped out of bed and into some pants before taking Sylar back into his view just as the other man was about to leave the apartment. "Sylar! You're _not_ going anywhere until I'm finished talking to you!"

Again, Sylar turned. "Need I remind you that your current ability is healing, thus, I wouldn't feel too guilty for giving your brain some much needed electroshock therapy right now, 'honey'."

Peter huffed, his shoulders dropping. "Sylar... I never said I actually thought you were my, yeah... 'wife' or anything like that, and I don't expect you to act like it, but I would appreciate some respect," he said, having managed to come off as strangely reasonable. "So, please, just hear me out for a second, will you?"

"Fine." Sylar closed the door. "What is it?"

"Well, about Hesam..."

Sylar opened the door again.

"Wait," Peter said, "I need to know what your plans are regarding my friend, because I _am_ going to let him crash here for several days."

Casually, Sylar replied, "I plan to stay for the entire duration of those several days."

Peter was clearly displeased by Sylar's words. "You're honestly saying you're not willing to stay somewhere else for five days?" 

"No, but don't worry," Sylar said in that same, casual voice. "Since you didn't tell your 'partner' I was going to 'crash' somewhere else, he's expecting me to be here, and since you and I are not 'partners', I'll make sure he knows that, so you have nothing to worry about..."

He smiled, walked out the door, and gently, shut it behind him.

Silently, Peter muttered, "Shit."

Sylar _had_ made some alternative 'plans', all right, hadn't he?

0.0.0

 _Knock._

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._

"Coming!"

Peter set down his coffee mug, stood from his chair at the dining table, and made way to answer the front door. Upon reaching it, he exhaled the smallest of sighs while shaking his head, unlocked the door, and opened it.

"Hey, Peter! How's it going?"

"Just fine, come on in," Peter said, opening the door all the way while stepping out of the way.

Hesam stepped inside, holding a suitcase in each hand. "Thanks for letting me crash here for a few days until my apartment complex is done with the renovations," he said, smiling brightly. "I know they set up other arrangements for the tenants and everything, but like I told you, it's in the same building as my ex's and I'm not ready for that after only two months..."

"It's all right, I understand." Peter smiled, taking one of the suitcases from Hesam. "What I don't understand is why you would ask if you could crash with me of all people, since plenty of our friends have better places than mine that are twice as convenient."

"I know," Hesam said, following Peter's lead into the living room, "I just couldn't think of a better friend."

"Hesam..." Peter almost wanted to laugh. "You have _way_ better friends out there than me, and you know it. Our job's no different than any other when it comes to stereotyping people, and I've been labeled as the mysterious loner since day one."

"No you haven't," Hesam said, shrugging idly. "You've been labeled as the guy keeping it on the down low since day one."

Dropping Hesam's suitcase to the carpet, Peter muttered, "The down low... what's that?"

Just then, the front door opened once again...

Peter looked forwards, while Hesam turned around.

Hesam lifted up his dark shades. "Yo, you must be the Sy-guy," he said in a snazzy voice, shades back in place.

Holding a sack of groceries along with the laundry he had picked up for Peter, Sylar stared at Hesam as if he were ready to kill.

"Yo...?" Sylar said, gritting his teeth. "'Yo' _yourself_."

Hesam trounced his way up to Sylar. "Thanks, I'm Peter's friend, Hesam, but I'm sure you know that," he said, holding his hand out. "Anyway, nice to meet you."

Sylar smiled, and through his teeth, said, "You expect me to shake your hand while I'm holding all of these things?"

Arm still extended, Hesam replied, "Nah, I expected you to shake my hand _after_ you put them down."

"Uh..." Peter knew he had to say something _fast_. "Sylar, would you mind going out again real quick so you can take care of that thing we talked about earlier?"

Sylar smirked. "I'd like to take care of 'that thing' we talked about earlier, but unfortunately, I can't do that if I leave."

Hesam turned towards Peter, shielding his face with a hand so Sylar would be unable to read his lips when he whispered, "Did he miss his thing?"

"I _still_ heard that, 'Hesam'," Sylar said, figuring the neighbors had probably heard Hesam, too. "Peter, what is he talking about?"

Peter quickly decided to say, "Nothing," while waving his hand down in order to instruct Hesam to say nothing, too.

"Hesam, tell me what Peter is talking about, 'please'," Sylar requested as nicely as he possibly could. "Really, I don't mind talking about _it_ if he told you." He had no idea what Hesam had implied seconds ago, but he was definitely smart enough to know 'it' had to do with whatever 'lies' Peter had told his stupid friends when it came to the 'visitor from out of town'.

"Oh, your meetings and stuff," Hesam replied.

Sylar's brow furrowed. "Meetings...?"

"Yeah," Hesam said, "Peter told us you're staying with him until you get back on your feet after the, well," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "drug problem you had..." His voice became perky again. "But I mean, I think it's _really_ great you're cleaning up your act, Sy!"

Sylar dropped the grocery sack, and the laundry basket, to the floor.

Oh, how Sylar wanted to kill. So badly. Hesam first, slowly, then Peter... He needed to hear them scream, kill Hesam in front of Peter while Peter was telekinetically bound, as Hesam screamed while Peter screamed for Sylar to stop and there would blood and suffering and more screaming and...

Sylar's eyes were closed, and strangely, he was smiling...

Peter said nothing, which Hesam had failed at. He was frozen, and Hesam was just waiting for someone to break the silence; he knew he couldn't do it, because someone didn't bring-up a topic as serious as the current one only to shift it to the current status of the weather.

"Peter," Sylar said between teeth, "tell me again what exactly is going on in my life right now because I can't seem to recall..."

"Uh..." Peter murmured, "I have... no idea because... you don't tell me everything about it...?"

"I see."

Saying nothing more, Sylar picked up the fallen groceries, and proceeded into the kitchen in order to put them away.

"Huh." Hesam shrugged. That had been... weird. Sylar had issues, he supposed, but it was none of his business. "Oh, Peter!"

"Y-Yeah...?" Peter stuttered. He was still worried Sylar might try to kill someone after putting the milk in the refrigerator... After all, Sylar wouldn't have to cry that way, because then, the milk wouldn't spill when Peter died. Just the blood.

Hesam turned back to Peter, took a deep break, and with much excitement, he said, "I brought my X-Box 360, and the converter since I doubted your television had HDMI plugs, but don't worry, I'm bringing over Guitar Hero III later, and the cool stuff Nick loaned me that he got from the Japanese convention thing. We can all open a case while we play games or something, and don't get too excited, Peter, but you're gonna have to drink that Kool-aid now because I even got you the new Spiderman action figure off eBay that you couldn't afford last month!"

"The _fuck_..." Sylar whispered to himself. He had been right—Hesam was a fruitcake; and Peter wasn't going to be eating from it while Sylar was around. No, Hesam would leave, and crash in hell after he burned, and then, Sylar would give Peter proper punishment when he turned Peter's bed into his own, personal and _very_ lonely hell.

"Alright, and that's great you got me that action figure, Hesam," Peter said, forming a smile. "Oh, and Sylar? If you're thinking about 'going back out', you're never 'getting back in' again if you do, okay?"

"Huh?" Hesam asked, "What did that mean?"

"Well, let me put it to you this way..." Peter huffed, scratching the back of his head. "Sylar's not... especially social, and it takes a while for him to warm up to people he doesn't know."

"How long?"

"Usually around four to nine years."

Sylar frowned. "I'm gonna go do my 'thing' now," he said, slamming the refrigerator door so hard that the milk spilt. "Don't worry, Peter, it's not my old thing, I've found new things to do since then, and I just thought of some more, so... yes, I'll go do them..."

" _Do_ them?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?" He didn't know whether or not he was afraid Sylar was going to hurt someone, or if Sylar was going to, well... cheat...

Completely ignoring Hesam, Sylar headed for the front door once again. " _That_ means I'm going to the library so I can read and stare at the wall at the same time," he replied without looking back. "Hell knows I've never done anything like that before."

Sylar soon reached the front door, opened it, and glanced back over his shoulder, smirking at Peter...

In a relatively polite albeit creepy voice, Sylar told him, "Oh and I did dry your laundry, Peter, I just haven't hung it out yet..."

The door slammed.

Hesam blinked. "Um, is he, you know," he pointed to his head and spun his finger in little circles as a gesture to symbolize the word _crazy_ , "...in the head?"

Peter sighed, walking his way into the living room while his friend followed behind him.

"Well," he explained. Actually, that didn't explain a damn thing, did it?

How _could_ Peter explain this to Hesam _without_ explaining it?

Peter continued to walk, looking down the whole while. "Sylar's... had his crazy moments, but we all have, and he's really... not that bad, deep down," he explained. Actually, that didn't explain much, either... "He's actually, well... very vulnerable and insecure deep down, and for that reason, he tends to push everyone he meets away from him before they get the chance to know him for who he really is, much less for who he wants them to believe he is."

Hesam opened one of his suitcases on the living room floor, and proceeded to get out the X-Box. "Ah, I get it," he said, smiling a little. "One of those 'I want to leave my mark on the world without a mark being made on me' people. Huh. Sounds a little familiar, Peter..."

Elbow on his thigh and chin in hand, Peter said, "It really would be best if you said as little to him as possible. If you ignore him, he'll ignore you, unless he thinks you're stealing all of my attention away from him."

"Huh?"

"I mean—I'm like... one of the only real friends he has right now, and I know he doesn't much like it when mutual acquaintances of ours invite me to do stuff and not him. He wants to be acknowledged for who he is now, and not what he used to be."

"I'm really sorry I brought up the bad stuff, Peter..." Hesam sighed, making way to hook-up that X-Box of his. "I shouldn't have mentioned that at all, but that's my thing – a lot of the time I say stuff and don't realize I shouldn't have said it until right after I say it," he said, shaking his head slightly. "I still feel bad for contributing to those rumors about you in the past, but as everyone knows, I can be a bit paranoid when it comes to the weird stuff."

Peter chuckled. "The weird stuff?"

Hesam shrugged again, attaching a cord to the back of Peter's television set. "Yeah, the weird stuff," he said, randomly thinking of how using an RF adapter for an X-Box fell into that category, too. "You know, unexplainable events, strange coincidences, government conspiracies, Mercury in retrograde, the creepy janitor at Mercy Heights who people are saying can take thoughts out of your head..."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I've told you before that you _can't_ jump to conclusions, _especially_ conclusions based on hearsay, _and_ that the janitor is not a telepath," he stated, nodding firmly. "Also, remember that people with powers do _not_ exist and that despite the weird speculation on T.V., the stuff that happened in Central Park was all just a stunt for the press that was meant to boost the carnival's popularity but the guy in charge of the carnival was an insane scam-artist whom is now in jail." He took a breath, smiled, and breathed out, "The end."

Hesam had heard that speech of Peter's so many times it sounded rehearsed whenever he heard Peter say it. In fact, it had sounded rehearsed the first time, but... oh well, Hesam thought.

After all, Peter was right. People with superpowers didn't really exist, and even if they did, Peter was definitely not one nor was anyone else Hesam knew such as Emma or Peter's friend Sylar.

Peter also wasn't on the down the low with some guy, _especially_ Sylar.

Nope, it was _all_ in Hesam's head...

0.0.0

Sylar approached the front door to Peter's apartment. It was time to put his plan of elimination into action.

Commence evil plan #3,427,001: _Crash and Burn Hesam..._

Sylar removed the keys from his pocket, prepared to unlock the door, when...

" _Oh yeah Peter you are_ _ **so**_ _much better than I thought you'd be!"_

" _Told you I could_ _ **do it**_ _good!"_

" _Yeah, right there, just like that. Now slam it,_ _ **hard**_ _. Ooh!"_

What.. the.. fuck..?

 _A laugh. "I bet you never thought_ _ **I'd**_ _come out on top, did you, Hesam?"_

" _No, I knew you had_ _ **no**_ _experience in this sort of thing."_

" _This_ _ **is**_ _my first time, but I am loving it a_ _ **lot**_ _more than I thought I would."_

" _Ssh, quit talking and concentrate. You slowed down for a sec, and you gotta do this hard and fast if you're going to do it with me, Peter."_

" _Well... take_ _ **this!**_ _"_

" _Ooh, Peter, nice!"_

Time.. to.. **die**..

Sylar _was_ going to kill. Now. After this, he would proceed to have complete mental and emotional breakdowns and destroy the entire world, he knew, but the hell with _that_ right now Peter was fucking around with that fruitcake...!

With rage, Sylar broke down the door, to see...

What.. the.. fuck..?

Peter and Hesam _were_ doing something. Just not each other. They were... playing a game, with... _plastic guitars...?_

Sylar was _highly_ disturbed by the sight.

And Peter and Hesam were _highly_ disturbed by the fact that Peter's front door had just been broken down for apparently _no_ reason.

"...Is everything okay?" Hesam asked, breaking the silence. The vocal silence, that is. The music in the background was still playing, and the 'boo' noises.

Sylar remained still momentarily, and then, remembered _exactly_ why he had decided to put his plan of elimination Hesam into action. Thus, he stumbled through the doorway, and then took another chug from the bottle of liquor in his left-hand.

"No, I-I... I'm afraid I did it _again_ , Peter... Oh my God, I am going to KILL myself!"

Peter paled. Sylar had actually... killed again...?

"S-Sylar you... _please_ , tell me you didn't," Peter said. His expression was pleading, and from the way his knees were shaking he knew he might just fall down to them very soon, before he quite possibly began to sob thereafter.

Sylar took another drink from the vodka bottle. "I _did_ _it_ , Peter," he said, woefully. "...I smoked some CRACK!"

" _ **Woah**_ ," Hesam gasped.

Peter didn't become any less pale, but in an instance, he had gone from being shocked and terrified to shocked and _enraged_. Sylar had not smoked crack, and he was definitely not drunk as he could not get drunk. No, he was only trying to freak out Hesam, wasn't he?

Sylar appeared as if he was about to break down into tears, when in reality, it was quite the opposite.

"I don't know what to do, Peter, I can't go back there again," Sylar said, fidgeting in forged nervousness. "You know, the mental institution where you and I met?"

"Sylar..." Peter hissed between teeth, " _Don't_."

"What—mental institution...?" Hesam muttered. He was visibly perplexed.

"Yeah," Sylar said as he looked at Hesam. "When Peter jumped off the building back when Nathan was running for senator he was put into one of those places for awhile and that's where he met _me_."

Hesam's eyes shifted to Peter, and he had long since dropped his plastic guitar. "...Peter," he whispered, "I knew about the rumors of your, uh, 'problems' during Nathan's campaign because they were in the papers for a little while back then, but I never knew you were actually committed..."

" _Sylar_ , you..." Peter was _so_ angry that he did not know _what_ to say.

"Peter, you gotta... gotta help me," Sylar said pleadingly, faking a heavy slur, "I need some more crack, or you're gonna have to steal MORE drugs for me from the hospital."

"So it really WAS you who stole the Morphine that time, Peter!" Hesam gasped again.

Peter's impulses won him out, the way they normally did around Sylar, and he charged forwards, straight for the former killer, until, with the plastic guitar, he slammed Sylar wishing that plastic guitar was a sledgehammer made of steel.

Sylar didn't fall to the floor upon impact, but the guitar did break. Peter didn't care. He grabbed the collar of Sylar's ebony shirt, before punching him in the face as hard as he could. When it hit Peter that he couldn't have Sylar's wounds healing up in front of Hesam, he came to the swift conclusion that he could _still_ beat Sylar up without exposing the man's regenerative abilities... so, Peter began punching him in the gut instead.

"Peter, stop!" Sylar begged. "Please, don't hurt me _again!_ "

 _Again?_ Hesam's jaw dropped. "...Peter what in the _hell_ are you doing!"

After Sylar was on the floor, pretending to be in massive pain while faking wails of agony, Peter stood, breathing heavily. "Hesam, I... need you to step out for a second so I can deal with this problem, in private... okay?"

"Uh, _not_ okay, Peter," Hesam replied. He knew what was going on here. "I'm guessing the poor guy was locked up in some _really_ bad place for a _long_ time and you helped him get through it at one point, and now, he's terrified he's going back into that nightmare he never again wants to relieve, and his _friend_ who is also a licensed _nurse_ and _paramedic_ decides he is going to beat the shit out of him when the guy in trouble asked him for _help?_ "

 _Damnit_ , Sylar thought, Hesam shouldn't have been reacting like _this_ , but surely this little stunt would be more than enough to get Hesam to leave. Sylar would just... have to make it worse, he supposed.

He stood from the floor, glared at Hesam, and pointed a finger at him. "Are you NUTS? Because I AM insane... _and_ under the influence of alcohol and illegal narcotics so I might suddenly decide to KILL you, and I am GOING to!"

"Hey, it's _all_ right, Sylar," Hesam said, calmly. "What you need to do is get into bed and sleep this off, and Peter and I can give you some antihistamine that will help ease the crash a little. Tomorrow, you can just stay here all day and take it easy and I'll get someone to cover Peter's shift so you don't have to be alone, okay?"

That was it. "Are you fucking _out_ of your mind?" Sylar snapped all over again. "I just threatened to KILL you and you're trying to be NICE to me?" Oh, so Hesam was one of _those_ guys... like Luke, or Micah, and Sylar wasn't going to tolerate another one of them who wasn't even _one of them_.

"Of course," Hesam replied, nodding firmly. "It's not your fault," he said, shaking his head gently. "I'm a paramedic, so I've seen stuff like this for years, and I have no idea what you've been through in the past, but I'm sure it was bad, and I always tell people in your situation that stuff like this will _always_ pass if they only allow it to."

While Sylar stared at him in shock, he added, "And I would also never say anything to provoke you because then you might actually engage in self-harming behavior."

"Oh... _ugh_." Sylar groaned, and looked at Peter. "You _are_ going to get him out of here right NOW!"

...Peter cracked a small, lopsided grin. "Nonsense, Sylar. You're on 'crack', remember? I might need his help, and I can't take off work for an entire week right now, and someone needs to be with you 24-7, right?" He chuckled, evilly. "I mean, what with your 'other' problems, too..."

"Other problems?" Hesam asked. His voice had been notably on the timid side.

Peter folded his arms, and nodded. "Yes, he's got like, this... obsessive behavior problem, and it makes him do crazy stuff sometimes like... watching the Care Bears for months, even years at a time."

Peter _tried_ not to laugh. He failed.

Sylar did not know _what_ to say.

Hesam didn't, either. This was... crazy, _and_ ridiculous. "Um... okay?"

Finally, Sylar did say something. "When Peter was in the 'institution' with me, he spent most of his time in _voluntary_ solitary confinement because he couldn't stop sexually harassing everyone else who _was_ there, including me, and he _was_ ashamed and chose to confine himself for that reason."

"...Okay," Hesam murmured.

Peter snorted. "Yeah, well, he's a psychopath, so you can't believe _anything_ he says."

"While I was locked up in another place, Peter tried to kill me before trying to kill his mother."

"Sylar plays with unicorns."

"Peter has passive-aggressive issues."

"Sylar's brain is so damaged he doesn't even know his times-tables anymore."

"Peter's even more twisted than I am when it comes to some of the sick stuff he's done."

"Guys, that's _enough_." Hesam sighed, touching a hand to his forehead for a few seconds. Someone was definitely lying, but what scared him so was Sylar was strangely more convincing than Peter. Hesam looked off to the side momentarily. "Sylar," he said, ready to test his theory out with his super plan. "What's six times seven?"

"Forty-two, of course."

Hesam decided to ask another question. "What's... fourteen times eighty-nine?"

"One-thousand two-hundred and forty-six," Sylar replied.

Hesam looked at Peter. "What's eleven plus eighteen?"

Peter formed another odd expression. "Uh... _who cares?_ "

Sylar bumped Peter lightly with his elbow. "Peter, don't be an idiot, surely you know the answer to _that_."

"Why does it matter?"

"Just tell him the answer."

"I don't even remember what the damn question was."

"Eleven plus eighteen, Peter."

"Who.. cares..?"

"It's twenty-eight."

"Yeah, whatever, wait... no, it's twenty-nine, Sylar."

"See, I knew you _cared_..."

Hesam's brow furrowed. Stuff was going on, wasn't it? The weird stuff.

"...Wait a minute. Something... _weird_ is going on here," Hesam muttered. "Peter, he's not slurring anymore, his voice is steady, he's calm, has no shakes, and his pupils are _not_ dilated." Everything clicked into place, and Hesam, once again, looked to Sylar. "...You're not on any drugs, or even drunk, you just don't want me here."

Sylar, momentarily, said nothing. The fruitcake had shattered all chicanery attempts made by asking him some _math questions_...

Sylar rolled his eyes, picking up the spilt bottle of vodka from the floor. "Fine, I'm not, and I don't," he said, walking into the kitchen to gather a washrag and some soap. "I really do _not_ want you here."

Hesam tilted his head. "Why not?"

"Because if there's one thing Peter didn't lie about," Sylar said, tossing the bottle into the trash, "it's that I am _not_ partial to what I'm sure people like you refer to as 'the scene'." He opened the cabinets under the kitchen sink, and removed the bottle of carpet cleaner. "If I must spend time around people I do not know—which includes, for the most part, everyone—I prefer that they be mature, commendable, and above all else, worthy and appreciative of what they have," he said, closing the drawer he had swiped a washrag from. Finally, he turned around and faced Hesam again. "After all, just because different people are created equally doesn't mean they all die equally."

When Sylar began scrubbing the carpet down, Hesam stared at Sylar blankly. "Um... so what is a guy like _you_ doing hanging around a guy like _Peter...?_ "

What was _that_ supposed to mean, anyway? Peter frowned. He didn't know, but he hadn't liked the sound of _that_.

Sylar shrugged. "Believe it or not, I actually was in a pretty bad place for a while and Peter happened to be in the wrong place at the right time, though I had admired him _long_ before that for his ambition, determination, and his strong-will that surpasses even that of my own," he said, scrubbing the carpet harder. "Peter was the one who taught me there was more to life than mere self-preservation, I guess, but at this moment, I also guess the spark is fading."

"So..." Hesam's eyes shifted from Sylar, to Peter, and then back to Sylar. "Are you and Peter...?"

"No," Sylar replied. "We're not partners, we're not friends, we're not enemies, and when I think about it, that doesn't really make us _anything_ anymore, so... damn, what _am_ I doing here?" 

Hesam eyed Peter once again, who appeared to be in an even greater state of shock than he had been when Sylar had busted down the front door and announced that he was on crack.

"You know what?" Hesam said, "I think I really should leave."

"Yeah, maybe you—"

"No, you don't have to leave," Sylar said, cutting Peter's speech right off. "I've had a moment to reflect on my own words, and while my tactical scheme to scare you away with the shock factor seemed rational enough, rationalizing is often a person's way of finding excuses, so now that I think about it, you should stay." He finished scrubbing the carpet, and stood. "After all, he was right—it wasn't my place to make decisions about his life that he's perfectly capable of making on his own."

"Okay," Hesam muttered, brow furrowing. Stuff was going on. The weird stuff. "I'll just... go and turn off the X-Box, I guess, because hearing that clip of _Miss Murder_ playing repetitively in the background during all this is only making things freakier than they already are."

When Hesam walked into the living room, Peter wasted no time, and confronted Sylar instantaneously.

"Do you," Peter said, glaring, slapping his palms against Sylar's chest in a rough shove, "have _any_ idea how much you just disgraced me in front of my colleague, or of how insane you've made not only yourself appear, but _me_ as well?"

Sylar, at first, said nothing; merely walked into the kitchen in order to gather another dry washrag or two. "Peter," he said finally, after opening the drawer and before turning on the faucet, "I think you know me well enough by now to have known something 'insane' was bound to happen, because it's, well... shall we say, 'unavoidable' for anyone in my presence." He pondered to himself. "A lot like the way dying around you is almost unavoidable for people, and in Hesam's case, he seems like his affect is similar to Angela's—some influence that makes one question their situation and the status of their life as is now and as it will be, only without the worry of being manipulated or fucked-over."

While Sylar was washing a rag under the water faucet, Peter suddenly slapped it right out of his hands.

"Will you _stop_ worrying about the damn carpet for one second?" Peter hissed, and turned off the faucet. "I don't like the way you're talking right now," he said, pointing his finger while shaking his hand, "and you _know_ how much I hate it when you try to play 'Socratic Method' with me."

"I know, which makes me miss Mohinder at times." Sylar chuckled. "He was always up for Socratic Method."

Peter nearly recoiled. Hesam was right; something weird _was_ going on. However, Peter knew—or at least felt—that whatever _was_ going on _was_ worse, somehow... The fact that Sylar had done something insane and even ridiculous in order scare Peter's friend was _not_ weird, but Peter had 'that' feeling nonetheless... like _something_ was going on in shadows. Something _bad_ was going to happen, and a battle would take place, Peter just didn't know when or how; only that he would be involved.

He sighed. "Sylar, just... okay," he said smartly, placing his right-hand on his hips. "If you no longer have a problem with Hesam crashing here, it's like I told you over the phone when you were out buying your crack and alcohol."

"I didn't buy any crack, Peter," said Sylar.

"I know that." Peter rolled his eyes. "Anyways, like I was saying, no abilities under _any_ circumstances, and you gotta keep your hands to _yourself_ when it comes to me and you whenever he's around." After Sylar smirked at him, he added, "Also, you must remain cordial at all times."

"All right. _One_ question..."

"What?"

"If you and I were to get married," Sylar said, as Peter took an involuntarily step backwards, "would our last names be Gray-Petrelli, or _Petrelli-Gray?_ "

Peter frowned, placing the flat of his hand against Sylar's chest. "Idiot," he said, pushing Sylar back. "You know the answer to that." He had turned halfway around, but he chose to turn back around to add one more thing. "Besides, my name sounds better up front because your first name has three syllables, too."

"Uh, guys?" Hesam asked, having re-entered the dining space. "So..." Damn, he had no idea what to say, but he would think of something smart. "You wanna play cards or something?"

"You mean like poker?" Sylar inquired, before Peter mumbled something to himself that was incoherent. He was clearly frustrated over something, and Sylar, for some reason, found the something extremely amusing. "Huh, I've never really done that before, but all right."

"Bullshit," Peter muttered, because _that's_ what this entire situation _was_.

Hesam shrugged. "We could play that, too?"

Again, Peter looked at Hesam oddly. "Yeah, okay, but you know what? We've got a shift starting at six in the morning tomorrow, and it's getting late, so I think you and I should just get some sleep."

"Peter..." Hesam was looking at Peter oddly now. "It's... well, not even nine o' clock yet."

"...I know that," Peter said, and then checked his watch. "But I do have the six to six tomorrow, and you have the six to three, so it makes sense if I get several more hours of sleep."

Peter still had that weird feeling, he did not know why, and he didn't like it. "Sylar, even if you're not on crack, you should sleep, too."

Sylar almost laughed. "Why?"

And Peter didn't know why.

"Speaking of that," Hesam said, "do I have the couch, or the roll-out?"

It was Sylar's turn to shrug. "I don't care, but in my opinion, the guest should get the bed."

 _Hold_ **up**.

Guest, or _Guests?_

Suddenly, Peter _knew_ why.

And at this moment, he either had to get his head _mostly_ straight, or have himself permanently committed in a place for being hell- _bent_ on making sure he wasn't so possessive of Sylar that the idea of Sylar spending time alone with anyone apart from him automatically made him think 'Get away from him, he's mine'.

"Peter."

No answer.

"Peter?"

Still no answer.

"Pe-ter..."

"...Huh?" Peter blinked several times.

"You just spaced off," Hesam said, lowering the hand he had used to snap his fingers in front of Peter's face. "My only question is which planet you went to _this_ time."

Sylar giggled.

He fucking _giggled_.

"...I'm gonna... yeah, go to bed," Peter muttered, though it seemed he was talking himself more than the guest or guests. "I'm suddenly not feeling so well, but I think it's just because I've been awake for a really long time, since I really didn't get much sleep last night..."

And he _hadn't_ obtained very much sleep the previous night, but neither had Sylar, and as Peter recalled the events of the night before, his fists balled, tightly... But, in relation to Hesam's prior statement...

"I'm going to Pluto now, goodnight," Peter said.

Hesam asked, "Uh, don't you mean Neptune?"

"What?" Peter didn't get it.

"Pluto's technically not a planet anymore, Peter," Sylar stated.

"...You two think I give a damn about all this stuff?" Peter grunted, unconsciously stomping one foot down into the floor. "Like I said, I'm going to bed, and you two can stay out here and discuss algebra and astronomy while playing _bullshit_ while those of us who _are_ responsible adults actually get some sleep."

"Peter, what the..." Hesam didn't even have the chance to finish his sentence or paragraph yet to come, however, as Peter had already marched into the bedroom, and slammed the doors behind him.

Too bad that both the doors—and the wall separating the bedroom from the next room—were mostly made of glass...

0.0.0

" _If I were a religious man I would say 'oh_ _ **my God**_ _' because you were_ _ **that**_ _incredible... You_ _ **are**_ _incredible, Sylar," Hesam said, breathing heavily beneath him._

" _I know, and now that I've had you, I realize I can have_ _ **anyone**_ _, and that Peter doesn't control me—control anything about me—including who I choose to make love to or have sex with, because it is my choice to make, and I'm_ _ **bored**_ _with him. Thank you, Hesam, for showing me the truth..."_

 _Sylar pinned Claire against the wall, kissing her, ardently, one hand slipping underneath her skirt._

" _Ooh, Sylar," Claire moaned. "Yes, fuck_ _ **yes**_ _..."_

 _Angela was on top of Sylar, straddling him. "You always wanted me, Gabriel, now let me show you what a real woman can do."_

" _I know, my lovely Angela... a real woman can do_ _ **me**_ _," Sylar said._

" _That's it, Mohinder. Slam me into the wall with all your might. Slam_ _ **in**_ _to me with your strength."_

" _That's right, Sylar." Mohinder growled. "Let's see you heal from_ _ **this**_ _."_

" _I still have her gift, I still have piece of Lydia inside of me, so why don't_ _ **you**_ _get inside of me and have a piece of me, too?"_

" _All right," Edgar replied._

" _It's been so long, I thought you had forgotten me..."  
_

" _I never forgot you, Luke," Sylar whispered, "so I came back for you, so you could come for_ _ **me**_ _..."_

" _What the hell are you doing here?" Samuel asked._

 _Sylar shrugged. "I came to visit to you in your cell so we could fuck in it, because I_ _ **am**_ _a whore now."_

" _Delightful, let's get started, shall we?"_

" _You're my_ _ **real**_ _hero, not Peter, please... Oh God, please, take me..."_

" _Anything." Sylar stroked Emma's face. "But I am going to give you_ _ **everything**_ _."_

" _If you want it, get on your knees, you monster..."_

 _Sylar sank to the floor. "Punish me, Noah. I'm sure you could make me scream louder than Peter_ _ **ever**_ _did."_

" _You won't have to have your powers for time itself to stop when you have sex with_ _ **me**_ _."_

" _YATTA!" Hiro threw his arms into the air._

 _Sylar was lying in bed._

" _Well, if Hiro's doing you, guess it's my destiny, too," Ando pronounced._

" _Who the hell are you?"_

" _Hello, West, I'm Sylar, the most powerful man in the world in_ _ **more**_ _ways than one, and I am here to have sex with you."_

 _West gave a thumps up. "Cool, and don't forget to add me on Facebook after we do it."_

" _Oh, I always wanted you, Sylar..." she purred._

" _Yes, Amanda, set me on_ _ **fire**_ _with the pleasure I am about to give you."_

" _Yo man, what's up? You wanna," Sylar said, licking his own skin, "you know?"_

 _Matt showed no visible reaction, but nevertheless said, "Sure, come right on inside so_ _ **we**_ _can get inside one another again."_

" _What the hell?_ _ **Sylar**_ _...?"_

" _Nathan," Sylar said, pointing a finger at him, "I know this may seem relatively strange, but I had to time-travel back here to make sure I had sex with you_ _ **before**_ _you died, and trust me;_ _ **no**_ _one wants to die without having first had me." He pressed the tip of his pointed finger to his pursed lips, and winked._

 _Nathan threw everything off of his desk. "Get on it, slut!"_

"Ahh!"

Peter bolted upright in his bed. He was breathing heavily, and was almost in a state of shock from the sheer terror his previous nightmare had presented him with.

The nightmare had been... horrendous... perhaps the worst nightmare Peter had ever experienced in his life. He knew every time someone underwent a horrible nightmare that their initial reactions were often 'that was the worst nightmare I've ever had', but when Peter realized it truly had been, he became all the more petrified.

When he... really thought about it, he'd rather spend another five years in someone's head than relive his previous nightmare. What time was it, anyway?

"Half past two?" he muttered to himself, staring at the red numbers on the clock. Something about the time wasn't right. Come again, maybe it wasn't the time that was wrong, it was the lights that were. They were still on, at 2:30 in the morning, which meant...

...someone was out there.

Peter blinked. He knew someone was _supposed_ to be out there, they just weren't supposed to be _awake_. ...It wouldn't hurt if he got out of bed for a few seconds to take a quick peek out his bedroom doors and see what Sylar and Hesam were up to so early in the morning...

He proceeded to get out of bed, slowly creeping his way to the doors, placing his hand on one of the knobs and pressing his forehead against the glass; squinting, to see what he could see out there. The den lights were off; it was only the dining segment lights which were on.

Peter heard laughter, and breathed out against the glass, fogging it. He was going to go out there and find out what his friend and his... whatever-he-was-to-him were up to. Thus, he turned the knob, pulled back the door, and stepped out. He heard the laughter again—a mixture of Sylar's and Hesam's—and he took a few steps to the left, slowly walking, walking, walking...

And then...

"Okay, I'd say you're a two."

"Are you kidding me? I'm at _least_ a ten."

"You're a two."

"Yeah, well _you're_ a two."

"No, I'm a nine and you _know_ it."

Peter blinked. _What the..._

"Hell," Hesam said. "You better not be doing what I _think_ you're doing..."

"Don't look at me like that, I'm not..."

 _Cheating_ , Peter thought. _You better not be, you little..._

"Son of a bitch," Hesam muttered. "You got it again. You suck, and this..."

"Blows?" Sylar chuckled.

"Get blown."

"Okay, get under the table."

Peter's mouth fell open. _Sylar, that..._

"Bitch," Hesam said.

 _Hesam, oh..._

"Please," Sylar said.

Hesam and Sylar laughed.

"You want to know who the real bitch is?"

"Peter," Hesam said, placing his card on the table while looking at Peter. "What are you doing here?"

Peter frowned. "I live here."

Sylar didn't even bother turning around. He only rolled his eyes, slapping the nine of spades down to join his previous cards.

"You guys were so loud you woke me up," Peter continued, rubbing at his eyes. "What are you guys doing out here, anyways?"

"Relax, Peter," Sylar said, exhaling a sigh. "It's not what it looks like."

Hesam nodded. "Nah," he said, holding up the stack of cards with one hand, "I mean, I know it looks like we're playing a card game," he placed his other hand over Sylar's, "but really, we're having sex."

Sylar laughed out loud _all_ over again.

Peter growled, his hands fisting at his sides. "Sylar, have you been telling Hesam weird stuff?"

"Weird stuff?" Hesam muttered, furrowing his brow. He looked from Sylar, who shrugged, to Peter, who smirked at him. "No," he said, once again looking from Peter, to Sylar, and then back to Peter again. "He hasn't even mentioned your name."

Peter, somehow, became even more displeased than he had already been. "Hesam, why would you automatically associate my name with 'weird stuff'?" he asked, raising his chin. "Also, the question was for Sylar, not you, but I want you to answer my question now anyway."

"Well," Hesam said, looking from Peter, to Sylar, "hell, I didn't mean it the way the way he took it."

Sylar huffed. "I know." He finally turned in his chair to face Peter. "Hesam and I haven't been talking about you," he said simply. "I'm guessing you thought he meant to imply that I had told him 'weird stuff' about you, but he only answered you the way he did because he figured the only logical explanation for how irritated you are was that you had the idea we were bad-talking you behind your back."

Hesam nodded. "Exactly."

"Then why did he..." Peter realized he couldn't finish the question. Not in front of Hesam.

Hesam tilted his head to the side. "Why did I what?"

Sylar chuckled. "He's referring to the joke you made about cards and sex."

"Huh...?" Hesam looked at Peter oddly. "Why would that bother you? I was just kidding around, but..." He looked at Peter even more oddly. "...wait, were you thinking that I was trying to make a gay joke aimed at you?" he asked, quickly shaking his head while holding his hands up as if he were a mime trying to get out of an invisible box. "Well, shit, I really didn't mean it that way, Peter, I was just making a random joke, and I'm getting really tired and had a couple beers to boot."

Peter blinked, eyeing the empty beer bottles. There were five in total; two next to Hesam, and three next to Sylar, and, wait... Peter hadn't _had_ any beer...

He frowned again. "You guys _actually_ went out to buy some alcohol?" he asked, though more in the form of a statement than an inquiry. "I know I shouldn't care, but I do, because Hesam, you have to work this morning and correct me if I'm wrong but I don't see how partying is more important than saving lives."

"Peter..." Hesam sighed. "I can see your point, but really," he said, standing up, "I was just about to go to sleep."

"Do you even realize what time it is?" Peter asked.

"I don't know, around midnight?"

"It's getting close to three," Sylar stated.

Hesam muttered, "Oh."

Peter folded his arms. "Sylar, if you knew it was that late, you _should_ 've told him."

"So now it's _my_ fault you're angry?" Sylar rolled his eyes, and then began gathering the cards from the table one by one. "I don't know why that surprises me, since it's always my fault, isn't it?"

"Look, it's no one's fault," Hesam said, tossing a couple of empty beer bottles into the trash, "so let's stop fussing over nothing and go to sleep."

Sylar nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Rather childishly, and with his vocal pitch rising in random increments between words, Peter said, "Sounds good to me."

"Mimicking words now, Peter?" Sylar smirked at him.

"No," Peter smiled. "Just idiocy."

Hesam threw a couple more empty bottles into the trash with force. "Peter," he said, spinning around promptly. "Have you been taking those caffeine pills again?"

"What?" Sylar asked, looking from Hesam, to Peter. "I thought you stopped taking those."

"I did!"

" _That_ was a lie!" Sylar shouted, slapping his hand against the tabletop. "I told you _not_ to take those fucking things anymore!"

"What's the big damn deal?"

"They make you crazy _and_ they're bad for you!"

"You _guys_ ," Hesam whined. He had no idea what he had gotten himself into when he had decided to crash with Peter. "Can we please stop this?"

"No," Sylar said, pointing his finger at Hesam. "You're going to tell me how many of those things he takes."

"Hesam," Peter growled. "Don't you dare say anything."

"No, he's gonna tell me."

"No, he's not!" 

"Yes, he IS."

"No, he's NOT!"

" _He's_ gonna go to bed right now because _he's_ got to be up in less than three hours and _he_ doesn't want to get fired over something _he_ has nothing to do with."

After Hesam had spoken, no one said anything. He threw the final beer bottle away, sleepily dusted off his hands in a typical piece o' cake fashion, and walked back into the dining room and towards the den.

He snapped his fingers, turning around. "Oh," he said, smiling. "Night Peter, Sylar." That said, he headed to bed.

"Well," Peter said. Huh. What had he and Sylar been talking about again?

"The... oh the hell with it," Sylar muttered, standing thereafter.

That had been odd and Peter knew it, because it seemed the very second Hesam had left the room the argument Peter had been having with Sylar had ended just as abruptly.

Peter waited for Sylar to say more, but it appeared Sylar had decided to initiate the good ol' silent treatment.

"Night, Peter," he said finally.

Peter frowned, gripping Sylar's wrist. "It's 'goodnight', not 'night', you _never_ say that," he said, grip tightening. "And what do you think you were doing playing one of _our_ games with him?"

Sylar's mouth opened, as if he didn't know what to say, though he was clearly amused. "What?" he asked, gesturing to the cards he was holding in his ceased hand. "You mean that silly card game? Everyone plays that."

"No, they don't," Peter said, taking the cards right out of Sylar's hand. "When _we_ play, it's one of _our_ lie-detector games, and you were playing the game with _him_ the _same_ way you play it with _me_."

Sylar raised an eyebrow. "Are we talking about the same game here, Peter?" he asked, lightly jerking his hand away from Peter, though Peter wouldn't let go. "Because I thought we were talking about the downgraded version of the Indian poker game where any number of persons hold a card to their forehead while they bet on who has the highest ranking card?"

"Well, yeah," Peter said, temporarily averting the glance of his eye to the right. "That's just like you to turn one of our games into a stupid drinking game, isn't it?"

"Peter... what the hell is wrong with you right now?"

Peter tugged Sylar's wrist when Sylar tried to pull his hand away again, smirking, saying, "Nothing."

"Oh, you chose to answer that by saying 'nothing'?"

"So?" Peter smirked, though he had interpreted Sylar's statement and question in one _in_ correctly. "My nothings speak louder than your somethings."

Sylar tore his hand away from Peter, frowning while gritting his teeth. "I don't know if you're _crashing_ or if you're merely looking for _a way_ to make nothing out of something—which you have always had a gift for—but either way I want _away_ from you right now."

"Pssh," Peter scoffed, throwing the full deck of cards in Sylar's face. "Sounds good to me," he repeated, turning around and walking back into the bedroom.

Sylar heard the doors slam, and yet again he wondered what had gotten into Peter that was causing him to behave so childishly. Hopefully he didn't have passive-aggressive- _possessive_ issues. Peter was the connection between Sylar and Hesam, so logically, should they all 'hang out', one of _them_ would be the third wheel – _not_ Peter.

Sylar shook his head a little, as all the cards scattered all over the floor rose into the air, surrounding him, before, with a single thought, he pulled every single card into his hand. The ace of spades came out on top. Huh, Sylar hadn't meant to do that, but subconsciously, he supposed he had death on the brain.

He set the cards down on the table, and walked into the den; pondering over the possibility of Peter feeling like a third wheel.

That wasn't really an issue, though, or so Sylar thought. No, it seemed the real issue was Peter's possessiveness when it came to him and, in a strange way, Hesam. Well. Well, well, well. Now Peter knew how Sylar felt when he left Sylar at the apartment alone so he could go spend time with Claire or Noah or Angela or Hiro or Mohinder or anyone else he chose to intentionally spend time with _without_ Sylar.

Lying on his back, Sylar stared up at starry-eyed sky that was Peter's ceiling. "Hesam?"

"Yeah?" Hesam mumbled, half-asleep on the couch.

"I think you and I are going to be _good_ friends..."

Hesam sleepily and incoherently mumbled something like, "Hurray, all right," though he had actually mumbled, "Okay, night."

Silently, Sylar chuckled. "Night."

0.0.0

 **A/N:** I have a lot of this fic finished already, but I'm really hoping I can get some reviews on this chapter before I post the next, so… please review…!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a long while! Sorry, I've just had so much going on these past couple years.

Anyway, please do read up and drop me a review (so long as it's not a flame, lol.)

 **Crash and Year  
** Chapter 2 **  
0.0.0  
 **.0.  
§****

 _He looked around. He was on a stage, and out in the audience were various people he knew from all over the world._

 _There was a big, metal suitcase in front of him, and to his right, Hesam was standing with a suitcase in front of him, too. In front of them both, Sylar was standing, along with Noah._

" _Okay, Sylar," Noah said, speaking into a microphone. "Which piece of baggage is too much for you?"_

" _Well," Sylar said, looking back and forth between Hesam and Peter. "I don't know, I'm still thinking about it."_

 _Noah nodded. "Well, I'll just read them again for you and we'll see what the audience has to say," he said, looking down at the card in his hand. "First one... 'I once put tinfoil on my windows because I thought Nathan Petrelli had spies watching me'."_

 _The audience laughed._

" _Hey," Hesam pouted, folding his arms. "I had just reason to believe that! I didn't know whether or not Nathan had Peter spying on me too back when Nathan was making all those crazy speeches because Peter was acting really freaky!"_

 _The audience laughed again._

 _Noah chortled, looking down at another card. "Next one... 'My life in itself is_ _ **nothing**_ _but one big closet'."_

 _The audience booed, loudly._

" _What?" Peter muttered._

 _Sylar formed a disgusted expression. "Oh, now_ _ **that's**_ _pretty bad," he said, backing away from Peter even though a whole nine yards was already separating them. "Sorry, Noah, that's_ _ **way**_ _too much baggage for me."_

 _The audience cheered, Claire specifically, as she was up front in a red cheerleader's uniform cheering Hesam on._

 _Peter supposed what was happening made enough sense, but he still didn't get it. Why was he on a talk show?_

 _Wait. What? Hesam ran to Sylar, and that meant... Wait. Sylar had chosen Hesam_ _ **over**_ _Peter...?_

" _Now Sylar, reveal your baggage," Noah insisted._

 _Sylar opened the suitcase._

" _...You're an insane psycho killer with superpowers?" Hesam muttered. Then, he shrugged it off. "Oh, that's fine, since_ _ **you're**_ _fine."_

 _Peter growled. "This," he said, his hands filling with purple flames, "is ridiculous!"_

 _He began shooting fiery violet flames at everyone in sight—with the exception of Sylar—before he shot some electricity at some people and threw others around with telekinesis. Then, he radioactively disintegrated his suitcase and super-sped over to Sylar, punching him in the jaw with super-strength._

" _Damn, Peter!" Hesam gasped. "This explains a LOT."_

 _Peter didn't know what happened next—the details, anyway—only that he cut Hesam's head open._

" _Peter," Sylar groaned, snapping his jaw back into place. "You're right, this_ _ **is**_ _ridiculous."_

"Why?"

"You're having another one of those dreams where you have all of your powers again, aren't you?"

Into his pillow, Peter mumbled, "Huh?"

"Peter... wake up..."

Peter opened his eyes, and looked up.

"Morning, Peter..."

Peter furrowed his brow a little, as everything came into focus. It was a guy, in a hockey mask, holding a knife.

Peter stirred for only a moment, nuzzling his face back into the pillow and closing his eyes.

Then...

"...What the?!" Peter jumped up in bed, nearly falling out of it.

Sylar laughed, "Got you."

Breathing heavily, Peter cursed to himself, sitting up in bed and throwing a pillow at Sylar. "You..." _**slam.**_ "Ahh!"

"He up yet?" Hesam asked, having just opened one of Peter's bedroom doors with a baseball bat.

Peter was, sure enough, fully hoping he was still asleep, but the fact that what was occurring suddenly made _no_ sense to him told him otherwise. "Alright," he said, running a hand back through his unkempt hair. "I know I probably shouldn't ask, but... what the _hell_ are you two doing?"

Shrugging, Hesam said, "Oh," and playfully swung the bat. "We decided to wake you up, since you apparently forgot to set your alarm."

Peter frowned with a glare. "Yeah, and that required a mask and a baseball bat?" He glanced at the object in Sylar's hand. "And a knife?"

"Hey," Hesam said, pointing at Sylar. "It was his idea."

Sylar laughed. "It was not, Hesam," he said, picking up the pillow Peter had earlier thrown at him. "It was _your_ idea," he shouted, throwing the pillow at Hesam, "and you _know_ it!"

After having caught the pillow, Hesam laughed, and threw it back at Sylar. "Was not!"

Peter was _far_ from amused. "Sylar, take off the hockey mask and put the knife away," he said politely, albeit irritably. "Hesam, stop swinging that and put _my brother's_ baseball bat back where you found it."

"Okay," Hesam replied, returning the bat to the top shelf in Peter's bedroom closet.

Peter arched an eyebrow. Hesam wouldn't have known that bat was in there, unless...

"Sylar," Peter said, throwing the covers back. "I don't know whose idea it was to give me this stupid wake-up call, but I don't really care." He stood from the bed, throwing the covers back over it. "Anyway, if you want to wake me up tomorrow like that, be prepared to get hit in the face by something harder than a pillow."

"Yes, Peter..."

Peter dropped the sheets, turned around, and snatched the mask from Sylar's face. "I should have known it was you," he said, shoving the mask back against Sylar's chest. "After all, everyday's a Halloween when you're around."

"Geez," Hesam whispered to himself. "Is he always this..."

"Bitchy?" Sylar asked.

"...I didn't say anything."

Peter extended his arm out to the side, pointing to the doorway. "Alright you two," he said with a forced smile and genuine sarcasm. " _Out_."

"You're no fun, Peter," Sylar said. He put the mask back on, turned, raised the knife in his hand, and chased Hesam out of the bedroom. Hesam faked his horror the whole while, especially when Sylar began to fake-stab him.

The bedroom doors shut.

 _Pssh, wait until he stabs you for real._

Peter went back to making his bed, frowning the whole while. So what? Sylar and Hesam were best buddies now? And what was up with Sylar's behavior? Hesam's, too. They didn't normally act like this. Granted Sylar was still a little insane and Hesam a little colorful, but they both acted moonstruck when in one another's presence.

Now, all Peter had to do was figure out _which_ one of them was the moon so the lunar cycles would cease and thus the lunacy.

"Well," he said to himself, "I could just take away the sun and wait until they both become starved for the light, and then... wait a minute..." He blinked consecutively. "...I'm thinking like Mom," he muttered, shuddering. "Then again, those dreams I've been having are a little crazy... Sylar, maybe you empathetically obtained my ma's ability and then I accidentally took it from you and now you're playing a big joke on me..."

That was a long-shot, since Sylar had promised him _no more abilities_ through _any_ means of obtaining them, but there was that one time when...

Peter huffed, and opened the nightstand drawer.

"Sylar..."

"Yes?"

"Does... uh... Peter, does he..."

Sylar set his silverware down, and turned in his chair. "Does he what?"

Staring through the glass of Peter's bedroom wall, Hesam asked, "Does he trim his own hair?"

"What?" Sylar, not knowing why Hesam would be asking such a thing, turned fully, and noted the expression on Hesam's face. Was he watching Peter change?

Sylar immediately stood from his chair. "What, exactly, _are_ you doing?"

"I'm trying to figure out why Peter's talking to himself while pacing back and forth with a pair of scissors," Hesam replied, continuing to stare through the glass. "...And why he's... putting the scissors to his... wrist and... going into the bathroom..." He stood straight up and made a quick move for the doors. "Peter, don't do it!" he exclaimed, trying desperately to open the doors. "Sylar, he locked the doors! Quick, help me break them down!"

Hesam stepped back. However, he tripped backwards as if he had slipped on a banana peel before he had the chance to kick in the doors.

In reality, the doors weren't locked, and Hesam had not slipped. No, that had been Sylar's handy work, since he had a good idea as to what Peter was doing...

Having heard all the racket, particularly Hesam's exclamations, Peter emerged from the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth. He wondered what all the fuss was about, and why Hesam was on the floor, so he decided to find out.

The doors opened.

"Guys," Peter said, looking down at Hesam, "what's going on out here, or should I even be asking?"

Hesam sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "I saw you with a pair of scissors," he said, pointing to Peter's left-arm, "and you were jamming them into your wrist or something right as you went into the bathroom."

Peter, momentarily, said nothing. But then...

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Oh, that had been the _perfect_ response, Sylar thought, because now Hesam wouldn't say anything more about the topic and Peter could go on his merry way brushing his teeth. Or, he could keep pulling a naïve Claire by inadvertently poking himself with sharp objects for no reason at all other than to watch himself heal.

Not like... Sylar had done anything like that...

"Peter," he muttered, folding his arms. "Didn't we talk about this?"

"Talk about what?" Hesam asked, standing from the floor. He really, really wanted to know what the heck was going on, and make sure he hadn't banged his head too hard.

"He has a habit," Sylar said, while Peter waved the toothbrush at him warningly. "A habit of unconsciously poking himself with pointy objects."

Slowly, Hesam's eyes shifted from Sylar, to Peter. "Right..."

Peter frowned. "I do _not_ have a habit of doing that," he said, making a few more angry gestures with the toothbrush. "Those scissors wouldn't cut my hair, so I was checking to see if they were broken, or if they were just really, really dull because of how old they are."

Sylar, for the life of him, smiled. That had been a _nice_ save, and he enjoyed watching Peter's attempts to manipulate others. That was rare, but when it came to protecting his secrets, Peter never saw farfetched as _too_ far.

"Oh," Hesam said, scratching the back of his head. "I'm sorry I freaked out then, but..." He sighed, faking a drawn-out yawn. "Never mind, I think I only got around a half hour of sleep last night..."

Peter smirked. "See, I was afraid of this," he said, placing his free hand on his hips. "I don't want to have to worry about being late to save someone because you crashed the ambulance."

Hesam blinked. "Uh, yeah," he said, blinking a few more times. "If I crashed the ambulance, with us inside, arriving late _should_ be your primary concern."

" _Exactly_ ," Peter said.

"Peter, will you cut that out already?" Hesam asked, waving his hand. "That's a toothbrush, not a magic wand."

" _Thank_ you." Sylar pat Hesam on the back a couple times. "I'm gonna have to remember that one."

Peter put the toothbrush back in his mouth, smiling sarcastically in unison. After checking the time, however, he removed the toothbrush from his mouth just long enough to say, "Someone's got less than twenty minutes to either call in or caffeine it up."

He turned and went back into the bedroom, but not before adding, "And _no_ _more_ peeking through my bedroom wall."

Hesam folded his arms. "You must have special powers to be able to live with him."

"I must admit," Sylar said, staring through the bedroom wall while Hesam stared at him, "that I have often wondered that myself."

"And _was_ he unable to get back to sleep last night?" Hesam asked, beginning his walk into the dining space. "I always thought it would be a cold day in hell when he took a day off to relax."

"I'm fairly sure he was talking about you, Hesam."

"...I guess you're right," Hesam muttered, pulling out a chair at the dining table. "I'm not as big on coffee as Peter, though, and when he made that 'caffeine it up' statement I was thinking about... never mind." Then, he jumped in his seat when he heard a loud noise, which in all actuality had been Sylar in the kitchen, slamming the waffle maker shut.

"I forgot about that," Sylar said, staring Hesam down. "So... yes, what has Peter been 'up' to that he wouldn't want me to know about?"

"Besides the caffeine thing, nothing."

 _Tingle_.

"You know," Sylar said, pouring a fresh cup of coffee, "I think you really should take off from work today..."

Hesam swallowed. A bite of his waffles, that is. "Nah, I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Peter's always getting onto me about not putting enough heart into our job," Hesam replied. He looked down at his plate, huffing. "And he's right..."

Sylar gathered the set of coffee mugs, walking back to the table. "Don't tell me Peter actually tries to lecture all of his colleagues like that."

Hesam shrugged a shoulder. "Sometimes," he said, "but usually just me." He placed his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. "I don't know, usually Peter keeps to himself but when he does have a conversation with someone that includes more on his behalf than the words 'I'm, fine, thanks, yes, no, good, morning, or night', it normally _is_ something like that."

"Like that?"

"Yeah, the weird stuff," Hesam muttered, his eyes having shifted a little.

Sylar chuckled, placing a coffee mug in front of Hesam. "What _is_ it with you and all this talk about the 'weird stuff'?"

"I don't know, Peter asks me that all the time," Hesam replied, taking another bite of waffles. "Mmm, these are really, _really_ good, by the way."

"Thanks."

"Anyway." Hesam took a quick sip of coffee. "Regarding the weird stuff, it's what I've always said when... when, well..."

"...Weird stuff happens?"

Hesam nodded. "Pretty much, but usually it's what I say to describe things other people would say God was behind or something."

"Interesting," Sylar said, pulling back his chair and taking a seat. "So tell me how that works."

"Well..." Hesam stared downwards momentarily, gathering his words together. "It's like this," he said, looking to his right, where Sylar was seated. "In my line of work, I sometimes see what a lot of people would call 'miracles,' but the way I look at it, even miracles have to have a rational explanation, and when there appears to be none, it strikes me as weird."

"Interesting," Sylar repeated, furrowing his brow. He could actually relate to this. "And what do you think the closest thing to a rational explanation for miracles is when there appears to be none?"

"I think," Hesam said, tapping the tabletop with his index finger, "that there's _always_ a rational explanation. If there appears to be none, it's only because it _appears_ to be that way, so the only explanation for there not being one is that there _is_ one, only people don't know what it is because they either don't understand it, or don't want to take the time to figure it out."

"You _definitely_ have to take off from work today," Sylar said between blinks. "That actually spoke to me more than anything I've heard Peter say in the past four weeks."

Hesam laughed. "So, what, you actually want to hang out with me, or did you really just want to dig up some dirt on Peter?"

"Both."

"Well, at least you're honest."

"Don't get me wrong," Sylar said, taking another sip from his coffee mug. "I know plenty of people in various parts of the world, but I've known them for so long they're getting sick of me, and I can tell it's vice-versa on my behalf."

"Doesn't... sound like those are very good friends to me," Hesam muttered.

"They think they're good," Sylar mumbled. "But they're not."

Hesam finished up his waffles, continuing to watch Sylar, who suddenly appeared to be in a very contemplative state. Initially, Hesam had truly thought Sylar was a nut job, because it wasn't every day that a guy busted the front door down to fake being on crack. Now, however, it seemed like Sylar was just an average guy who had been royally fucked over by more than one person. That made sense, and it would explain everything. If Sylar had previously lost a few friends, or _worse_ , a few girlfriends, then he had every right in the world to want someone to talk it over with. Peter, already playing the partial role of the best-friend and fulltime role of the hero, had probably become sick of listening and also didn't consider listening all that important.

 _And_ maybe, if Sylar could learn more about Peter through Hesam, maybe Hesam could learn more about Peter through Sylar...

"You should do it..."

"What?" Sylar asked, coming out of his state of contemplation. "I didn't hear you."

"Oh," Hesam said, coming out of his state of contemplation. "I decided to call in."

"That's—"

" _Great_ ," Peter said, loudly. He hadn't overheard Sylar and Hesam's conversation at all, but his watch was running an _entire_ six minutes late, which meant he was, too.

"Peter," Hesam said, somewhat nervously. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, quickly pacing into the kitchen. "I just realized we're running a little late, I mean... I thought it was only 5:10, and it's already 5:16, so we have less than ten minutes now."

Sylar groaned. "I told you your watch was getting slow, and that I would fix the damn thing if you really wanted me to..."

"I told you," Peter said, "that you don't have to."

"I said I'd do it."

"And _I_ said you don't have to. Really. You don't."

"I will."

"I _said_ it's fine and you won't."

"Okay." Sylar smiled sarcastically. "I don't and I won't."

"Good."

Hesam recoiled in his chair. There was something about Peter and Sylar's random arguments that seemed weird. Every single spat they had, no matter how big or how small, seemed to have a secret behind it. Hesam wasn't quite thinking that Sylar had some deep, dark and horrible secret whereas watches were concerned, but he did think Peter really sucked at playing down both his own emotions, and that of others.

Either that or he was an enormous jerk who liked to humiliate people by exposing their weak points.

"Hesam, make sure you leave your earphones here because I don't want you listening to music on your cell in the ambulance again, because you're gonna get someone killed again if you do."

Sylar blinked. "Again?"

Looking at Peter, Hesam whispered, "Jerk..."

Sylar was looking at Hesam curiously, however, and Hesam knew he needed to clear his name immediately.

"I didn't get anyone killed," Hesam said to Sylar, though the loudness in his voice implied he wanted Peter to get the message, too. "A little over a month ago, a dispatch call came in about a code blue, and I was listening to some music when Peter and I weren't on active duty – we still had _over twenty minutes_ before our shift started. Anyway, Peter was walking to the ambulance with some coffee, and heard the dispatch when he got there. He freaked on me, and I'm talking _crazy_ freaked on me."

Peter frowned at him. "Hey!"

" _Like I was saying_ ," Hesam said, after having waved his hand at Peter without even looking at him, "Peter freaked on me and said we had to go. When we arrived on scene, the guy was already dead, and Peter kept saying if I had gotten him there sooner the guy would _still_ be alive."

Peter insisted, "Well maybe he _would_ still be alive."

" _And_ ," Hesam said, taking a very, very quick sip of coffee. "There were already six other paramedics there, and the guy had cut his arm off from above the elbow – I am talking _tons_ of blood, _everywhere_ , on the floor, on the walls, the ceiling, the hacksaw... and his arm was _right_ there in the middle of the floor."

 _Smash_.

"Interesting," Sylar said.

" _Hesam_ ," Peter hissed. He had broken something, but he neither knew nor cared what it was. "I told you _not_ to do that," he said with a growl. "Especially around me!"

Hesam could feel himself shrinking in his chair. "Peter, I—"

" _No_ ," Peter said, growling once again. "I _**hate**_ it when paramedics, EMTs, doctors, nurses, exedra tell 'hospital horror stories' and _glamorize_ them like that!"

He smirked, "Humph," shaking his head. "Talk about disrespecting the dead."

Silence.

 _Thirty seconds._

"And so that's why you never talk about work," Sylar muttered.

Silence.

 _Sixty seconds._

"Well," Hesam said.

Silence.

 _Three minutes._

Sylar swore he heard a few crickets.

Peter continued to stand there, staring, drinking his coffee.

Hesam grumbled inaudibly, but he didn't have the guts to say anything. Peter... he was scary sometimes. It was the weird stuff, Hesam knew, and not of the unexplained miracle variety, just of the unexplained weirdness variety. That's just it. Peter. He was weird. _That_ was the explanation.

...The simple explanation.

And Peter was _not_ simple.

 _Silence._

"Time," Sylar said finally, looking down at his watch.

The silence continued, though Peter was moving around a bit more. Sylar and Hesam could hear him breathing, even.

"Sylar," Peter said, setting his empty mug down and pointing to the kitchen floor. "I'd appreciate if you could 'pick' this up if you know what I mean."

Sylar huffed, "Sure."

" _You_ broke the bowl," Hesam said.

Peter nodded. "I know that, but I have to go to work, and so do you or I'd say _you_ should do it."

 _Wow..._ "In that case, I _can_ do it, then."

Peter furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"

"Like you said, I only got around twenty minutes of sleep last night, and I could crash the ambulance and you could get hurt."

"Hesam, I'll be fine."

"I could get hurt."

"You'll be fine."

"You might be unable to save someone's life in time."

Peter blinked. "...Point," he mumbled, but... "I don't think you're really as exhausted as you're making yourself come off as, I think you want to play hooky so you can..." _Wait_. "...No, go get your things right now and let's go, you're not skipping out on your job so you can chill in front of the X-Box all day."

"I don't want to." Hesam stretched out his arms, dramatically yawning the words, "but I'm _sooo_ tired I'm about to fall asleep right here..."

Sylar chuckled.

Peter unfolded his arms, and began walking towards Sylar.

In a scarily sweet voice, Sylar said, "I don't think you want to get off the 'H' just yet, Peter."

Wait.

"...Please oh _please_ tell me that's not _the_ explanation," Hesam begged.

"I'm _not_ on heroin, Hesam," Peter said, placing his hand on Sylar's shoulder. "He was making a rather _stupid_ inside joke."

"...Then what does the 'h' stand for?"

Peter squeezed Sylar's shoulder.

"Hell," Sylar replied.

"Oh." Hesam supposed that, under the circumstances, Sylar's inside joke made _perfect_ sense as long as he was inside Peter's apartment with Peter.

Peter took another glance at his watch, adding the additional six minutes and realizing he was an entire one minute behind schedule. "One question, Hesam," he stated.

"Yeah?"

"If you stay here and play hooky—I mean, call in that you're sick—are you planning on _screwing around?_ "

Hesam tilted his head. "You mean do I plan on goofing off or getting into your personal things or something like that?"

"Yes." Peter nodded. "For the most part. It's not like I was actually asking you if you were gonna try to sleep with someone in my apartment or anything, because you would _never_ do that," he said, laughing. "Right?"

"Uh, no," Hesam replied. "That's just weird."

Peter laughed again. "I know." He placed the flats of his hands on the table, leaning forwards and down as he turned his head to look at Sylar's face. "Just like I also know that Sylar wouldn't try anything like that anymore than he would try to kill anyone," he said, grinning. "Right?"

Sylar huffed, "Right."

"Right," Peter said, placing his hand on Sylar's shoulder once again.

That was odd, Hesam thought, because he had only once ever seen Peter quite so eager to keep randomly touching another person, and that was Nathan. Maybe that was it. Sylar was a brotherly figure to Peter. That would explain things. If so, Peter was definitely playing big brother now, in more ways than one, but maybe he _was_ trying to be more like Nathan now?

What was strange, however, was the way that right after his 'right', Peter had turned to walk away, only to walk back to Sylar and touch his shoulder _again_.

Having read Hesam's thoughts without actually reading them, Sylar said, "Now that he's off the 'H' and the 'LD', he's getting on the 'F', because the 'F' was always, always Peter's favorite, and trust me—there's _nothing_ he loves more than a good—"

"Flight," Peter said.

Hesam raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Inside joke." Peter lightly pat Sylar's shoulder and stepped back. "Nothing important, it's all derived from those 'silly comic books' I read."

"Huh."

"Anyways, I gotta get going," Peter said. He picked his red gym back up from the floor, slinging the white strap over his shoulder. "Hesam, just so you know, I find this _incredibly_ sad."

"I already knew that," Hesam said with a shrug. "But just so you know I really do plan on catching some much-needed Z's."

Peter frowned inwardly. Hesam probably was planning on doing that. All this time Peter had been worried about the weird stuff, when all Hesam probably wanted was to take advantage of a friend's couch and fellow-crasher so he could veg out in front the television and share college stories and dumb stories about Peter with a fellow crasher.

Peter also figured Sylar had, in some way, put Hesam up to this, and since Sylar would have _no_ interest in behavior of the college dorm variety that meant he wanted to hear hospital horror stories about Peter in another attempt to empathize with him. Well. That was okay...

"Okay," Peter said, standing in the front doorway. "I'm heading out, okay?"

"Okay," Hesam said.

"Okay," Sylar said.

"Okay," Peter said, smiling in a strange way that made him resemble a father who was leaving the kids home while he went to work, knowing that the kids were planning on skipping school. "But as for _not_ okay, if any of my stuff gets messed with, or if anything gets broken, or should I—for reasons I can't fathom—come home from work to find my apartment a complete disaster, you're both grounded."

The front door slammed.

"Well," Hesam said.

The front door opened. "By the way, grounded translates to ass whooping."

The front door shut.

"Well," Sylar said. "What should we do first?"

"Let's get into Peter's stuff."

"Alright."

"Hmm... Hmm mmm... Hmm hmm... Hmm, hmm hmm, mmm..."

 _God, will he shut up?_

"Hmm... Hmm hmm, mmm hmm..."

Peter gritted his teeth.

"Hmm hmm... I sit and watch... as tears go _by-ah-aye-eye_..."

"Will you _stop_ that?"

"What is it?"

Peter turned his head to the left, and frowned. "James, you have _got_ to be joking, right?"

"If you're talking about the humming, I only do that because it's better than the intolerable silence," James replied. Peter had nothing to say in response, as usual, and only began to—once again—stare at the receiver to await incoming dispatches. James hadn't been surprised when Hesam had phoned in; everyone needed a break from driving Peter Petrelli around, and from the intolerable silence which was sitting in the ambulance with him.

"Say Peter..."

"Yes?"

"So I hear Hesam's crashing at your place."

"Yes."

"How's that working out?"

"Fine."

James took a sip of coffee, staring at Peter out of the corner of his right-eye. "How's your other friend doing?"

"Fine."

"So," James said, staring out the windshield while he pictured something in his mind. "You're not worried your crashers are going to wreck your apartment while they crash."

"No."

James continued to stare out the windshield; the television of his mind flipping through some interesting channels. "Hesam crashed at my place once, and man, it _was_ crazy..."

Peter remained silent. He hated it when whoever he worked shifts with chose to deal with the _tolerable_ silence by badmouthing coworkers, or worse, _gossiping_. Most of them knew better than to try that with Peter, since if he caught any inkling that he was going to hear some derogatory hearsay, he would speak up with a single phrase to inevitably ensure the return of the tolerable silence.

"It was only for several days last year when he was moving into his new apartment," James said as he sat back. "But yes, it _was_ crazy..." He smiled, making himself more comfortable in the driver's seat. "On the second night," he continued, earnestly, "I introduced Hesam to this one friend of mine, and they _really_ hit it off, and as you might know Hesam _isn't_ one of those guys who like to be alone when he's down, much less when he's happy."

Peter exhaled, loudly, hoping James would get the message—the message being he did not need nor want to hear James's dumb story.

"Hesam and I had different schedules, so he hung out with my friend the next night when I had to work," James said, taking another small sip from his coffee cup. "Hesam took him to all these really, really neat and crazy places I'd never heard of, and my friend had _so_ much fun..." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Hell, Carl hangs out with Hesam more than me now."

Peter looked to his right, pretending to be interested in something he was looking at through the window, even though the only thing visible through the passenger's side window was a brick wall.

James knew, of course, that Peter was really interested in what he was looking at in his own mind.

"Hesam has a _ton_ of friends," James said. He hadn't looked at Peter once, he just stared at that television in his head. "He's one of those guys who can hand out his number to drunk people in a bar and actually _get_ calls the next day. He has this insanely weird charm that's not really charm at all, it's more of this dark horse thing."

Peter was getting very, very close to making sure the tolerable silence returned.

"And you know what they say about dark horses," James went on to say, "which is that when a person's in need and the white knight's nowhere in sight, the dark horse is gonna ride right on in and,"—he slapped his thigh—" _bam!_ Ride right on off with the person in distress to save them."

"So," Peter said, finally. He was still looking out the window, but surely James didn't care. "You're telling me that Hesam's an unappreciated superhero."

"No." James laughed. "I'm telling you he's a paranoid sociopath _with_ a conscience."

What. The. Hell?

"James," Peter said, blinking, " _what_ the hell?" He smirked, his smirk nearly transforming into a laugh. "Actually, what the hell are you _on?_ "

"But it's true," James replied with seriousness, pursing his lips into a momentarily smile. "If Hesam thinks you're out to get him in any way, he's eventually _going_ to get _you_ with _out_ even _knowing_ it. He calls it his 'involuntary defense mechanism against the weird stuff'..."

Peter blinked again. "...I'm listening..."

James nodded. "Yeah, and because he's not _actually_ _trying_ to do bad stuff, he comes off as this great guy who's willing to listen to _all_ your problems and offer you constructive advice," he pointed his finger at Peter, " _and_ he'll scold you when you refuse to talk about problems _as_ a means to make you think them over... but..."

Peter shrugged, though the shrug's manner was very insistent. "But?"

" _But_ it's all part of the defense mechanism," James said, poking Peter in the shoulder. "He wants others to feel better because it makes _him_ feel better about _them_ , and he _feeds_ on the entire 'process' of it, turning it into this huge deal." He looked at his coffee cup, smirking. "The guy can turn a trip to the local Starbucks into an adventure, but he only does that for unsuspecting victims..."

"I'm..." Peter huffed, ruffling his hair at the same time. "Okay, I'm really confused right now by whatever it is you're _trying_ to say about our _friend_."

"I'll try to simplify it a little," James said. He turned his head, staring out the windshield, more images filling his mind. "My friend Carl was the unsuspecting victim of Hesam's process, and Carl, he was processed... and _now_..."

"...Now what?"

"Carl," James whispered, "is gay for him now..."

Peter's mouth fell open, and he truly didn't know _what_ to say. "Uh, yeah... okay..."

"Don't you get it?" James asked, while Peter mouthed the word 'no'. " _That's_ the process, Peter – to make you feel _so_ good about yourself that you feel _just_ as good about him, and it's _addictive_. There ain't no coming back from the process once you've been through it."

"Pssh." Peter sat back, knocking his head lightly against the seat. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've heard, from any of you guys, _about_ any of you guys." He stared through the windshield, seeing nothing but the other side of the glass. "Process," he muttered. "Yeah, Hesam's unintentionally making guys gay for him as part of _his_ defense mechanism or whatever, and to boot, he's sociopathic."

"Peter..."

"Yes?"

"You ever heard that saying on how the road to darkness is a journey, not a light switch?"

"What about it?"

"Hesam turns the road to _light_ into a journey, and then flips the light switch _off_..."

"Which means?"

" _Which means,"_ James began, then inhaling _quite_ the deep breath. "That once the unsuspecting victim's been on the really fun journey, Hesam stops talking to them and takes another person on the really fun journey, leaving the previous unsuspecting victim to pine, bitch to their other friends, and become _so_ insanely jealous they start staking Hesam in order to be re-processed."

"I don't thi—"

" _But_ he will only process you _once_ ," James said, poking Peter in the shoulder again. "And once you've been processed, you _are_ screwed."

Peter lightly slapped James's hand away. "Right... So, Hesam has a 'process' that's basically showing a new friend the amazing wonders of Starbucks or Houlihan's, but it's really the evil work of a dangerous psycho?" He leaned forwards, patting James on the arm. "Do us all a favor next shift and lay off the hearsay, because _that's_ what you're on and you _need_ to get off of it."

"You _are_ gonna be sorry, Peter," James said, slowly shaking his head side-to-side. "Hesam also is definitely _not_ psycho. Like I said, he's a sociopath _with_ a conscience, meaning he keeps putting people through the process in _order_ to understand them for his _own_ gain even though he knows the process hurts them, but since he feels bad about it later on and does everything to correct the effects of the process, he _has_ a conscience. Get it?"

"Wait. What?" Peter blinked a few times. "I..." A few more blinks. "...Who's normally subjected to this process?"

Holy shit, _**Peter Petrelli**_ _was_ _ **gossiping**_ _at_ _ **work**_. James was going to win some _serious_ cash and he knew it.

"Well," James said with casual ease, "he prefers to process vulnerable individuals."

"...Go on," Peter mumbled.

"That was pretty self-explanatory, Peter." James shrugged, staring out the windshield while Peter stared right out it with him. "The most susceptible to the process, however, tend to be guys who don't have that many friends."

"I have plenty of friends."

"...I didn't know you'd been through the process."

"...I haven't," Peter said, though his eyes were _very_ shifty.

"Peter..."

"I _haven't_ been through the process," Peter said firmly, folding his arms. "Well, not with Hesam, at least," he muttered. "But 'the process' itself sounds familiar – I just can't see Hesam doing that."

It was James's turn to blink. "Oh man..."

"What?"

"Peter, I..." James sighed. "Okay, don't get me or any of the other guys wrong, but we were afraid you'd been through the process before without knowing it."

"...What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That you have some crazy friends."

"Well, yeah..."

"But don't worry about it, Peter," James said, patting Peter on the arm. "We've all been through the process at _least_ once in our lifetimes, most of us just don't realize it."

"Still, I can't see Hesam working _that_ process."

"He _does_ , Peter, he _does_ ," James insisted. He pointed his finger again, making a few gestures with his hand to further accentuate his point. "Hesam works the process, and he's damn good at it—better than anyone—it's like his _special ability_ or something."

"Well," Peter said, nervously tapping at his thigh, "what happens when... two people with that ability hang out?"

"Open season?" James laughed. "But no, people with the ability to work _that_ particular process are very rare, but I saw what you're asking about happen a couple times when I was in college."

"And?"

"Double negatives, hence, the process does _not_ apply."

Peter did _not_ like the sound of that for some reason. "I don't get it."

"You know," James said, "the whole 'met your match' thing."

"...Excuse me?"

James shrugged. "Yeah, the 'equality' thing or whatever, I guess. When I saw it before, those times when I was in college, those guys became inseparable for a while but ultimately had big falling outs."

"Why was that, they just get tired of each other?" Peter asked. He was strangely interested in learning the details of 'the process', but was hoping he didn't appear as interested as he was.

"Of course not," James replied, poking the thin air. "In both cases, the weaker half of the duo eventually fell victim to the process themselves, and then... it _was_ revenge time..."

His eyes having widened, Peter whispered, " _Revenge_ time?"

"Pssh, hell yeah," James said, visibly shuddering as he recalled the events. "Since they each had the special ability to work the process, the guy who _got_ processed _understood_ it, and got very, _very_ pissed when he realized he'd fallen victim to his _own_ game."

"But... it wasn't that bad, right?"

"Actually, in one of the cases, a dude got shot, and in the other a guy mysteriously fell off a building."

"..."

James stroked the stubble on his chin, appearing quite contemplative. "Yeah, that's right, Frankie went to jail after they found out he'd paid the guy to shoot Ethan... and after Davis 'fell' from the parking garage Cole disappeared the same week but... supposedly flew across the globe and changed his identity..." He clapped his hands together a single time. "Man, I can't _believe_ I ever forgot about that!"

"So about the process, though," Peter said, picking up his cup of coffee. It was cold, but he didn't care. " _Figuratively_ speaking, if Hesam were to have this 'special ability' to work what you call 'the process', and I had a friend who could work it, too, and Hesam and my friend 'happened' to be hanging out right now... should I be worried?"

James nodded firmly. " _Definitely_." After tapping his chin in thought for a few seconds, he added, "In fact, since you'll definitely be taking a few days off pretty soon, I suggest that until it's all over you find another place to stay."

"This is _ridiculous_ , James." And it was. Hesam, Sylar, dark horses and white knights, the weird stuff, dark roads and light switches, the process... Really, it _was_ ridiculous. James was seriously over thinking this stuff, but then again, so was Peter. "Okay," he said, rubbing at his forehead. He felt a migraine coming on. "One more thing about this, and then we are going to stop talking about it and _never_ mention it again."

"Alright."

"If I were to say, hang out with Hesam as an unsuspecting victim, is there any chance he might work his process on me?"

James, once again, shrugged. "Maybe, but part of the process for Hesam is unintentional on his behalf, and since he knows you semi-semi-well, I don't know if he'd find you applicable for _the_ process."

"Well, I'm gonna find out anyway," Peter said, giving the nod of affirmation. "I want to see if there's actually anything to any of this, or if it's all just a bunch of BS that's been constructed of _way_ too much hearsay between coworkers."

After taking another sip of his cooling coffee, James said, "Whatever you do, be careful, though, and if you get the _slightest_ idea that Hesam might be working the process, you have to find the nearest fire exit _immediately_."

Peter sighed, "Alright."

Silence.

James blinked. That was strange... suddenly, the intolerable silence with Peter had become _tolerable_ , and that in itself was a small miracle.

It was a good thing Peter wasn't say, a mind reader, though.

In that case, Peter would know what James was _really_ watching on that windshield-mental television of his.

"The process...?"

Hesam nodded. "Yeah."

"So, who started that?"

"I have _no_ idea," Hesam replied, chucking with a shake of the head. "I know _everyone_ has some stupid rumor going around about them at work, I just can't believe _that's_ what's being said about me."

Sylar placed one elbow on the small, circular table, his expression curious. "Tell me again what exactly 'the process' is supposed to mean."

Hesam rolled his eyes. "To be honest, I'm not sure I even understand it myself," he said, twiddling a coffee coaster between his fingers. "I think it started the first time a group of us went to Houlihan's, and I made friends with someone there that none of us knew. I don't know, I just have a tendency to make friends easily, and, because of that, some of my colleagues came up with this thing about 'the process'."

Sylar laughed at him. "So, I'm guessing 'the process' amounts to nothing more than being too talkative, too trusting, or both," he said, while Hesam laughed again, too. "If that's the full extent to your trust issues with certain coworkers, I would say you have nothing to worry about."

"I guess you're right," Hesam said. When the sun began to rise higher in the sky, he squinted and put on his sunglasses. "That's better. Anyway, have you ever had a problem like that at any of your jobs?"

Sylar laughed once again. "Uh, _no_." He continued to laugh, silently. "My primary job was repairing watches, and it was more of an inherited family business, thus, I worked _alone_."

"Sounds awful."

Sylar frowned. "Well," he said, getting ready to retort, but when he thought about it, realized he couldn't. "...Okay, so you're right," he muttered, looking off to the side for a few moments. "But it wasn't horrible because of the solitude, it was horrible because it was boring and meaningless."

"Maybe the solitude is exactly _why_ it was boring and meaningless," Hesam insisted.

"Oh, I see your point," Sylar said, though his voice was rather on the sarcastic side. "If I'd had a few coworkers to repair watches _with_ me, I'm sure the actual job would have been _so_ much more interestingly meaningful."

"Hey, it's possible," Hesam smiled at him, "since you never know how something's gonna work out until you test it out, right?"

"In theory, yes, only when I—"

" _Don't_ say you already tried when you were a teenager," Hesam said, before Sylar had the chance to say exactly what Hesam knew he was going to say. "Whatever went down in places like,"—he shuddered and scrounged his nose—"high school... does _not_ count, because if they did, the world would _have_ its solution to overpopulation and everyone left would be politicians _or_ the assassins out to get them."

"And how," Sylar asked, "would living in the past in that sense solve overpopulation in any way?"

"Because if anyone tries to relive high school in their head for _too_ long, they're going to die from an overdose of bad memories."

"Not everyone had a crappy time in high school, Hesam."

"I know, but even the cheerleaders can become politicians or assassins, and we all know the ball players can."

Sylar blinked. "... _Damn_ ," he said, then taking a sip from his latte. "I was really hoping I'd be able to argue with you on that one."

"What _is_ it with you and all this debating?" Hesam asked, although as politely as he possibly could. "I know I still don't really know you all that well, but you seem to like turning even the most random, humorous topics into something to debate over."

Once again Sylar wanted to argue, but then he would only be proving Hesam's point. "Fine, I've had a very crappy life," he said. When Hesam had nothing to say to that statement, Sylar figured this was the point where he was supposed to say more. "Like you said, my friends really weren't very good friends. My relationships also weren't very good, and neither were my parents, and, like I said, my job 'sucked', too."

"What about Peter?"

"That's..." Sylar's eyes shifted from right to left. "...a really, really long story."

Hesam shrugged. "I'm not asking you to tell me some long story or anything, but I _am_ pretty sure the two of you _didn't_ meet in an institution."

"We met in Texas."

"Huh?"

"It had to do with a girl we were both interested in," Sylar said. He had promised Peter he wouldn't 'expose' himself _or_ Peter, but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to manipulate the truth. "I'd actually known her a _little_ longer, but Peter arrived in time to disrupt my attempts at getting to know her better, and ran away with her."

"She an ex?" Hesam asked. If so, must have been _some_ ex.

"She's definitely not an ex," Sylar said, silently laughing as he had before. "Anyway, I met Peter again at a mutual friend's apartment, and we had a... _really_ bad fight. After that, I met him at Kirby Plaza so we could have it out and see who won once and for all..."

"Woah," Hesam said with widened eyes. This was very interesting, and he knew he would never hear these sorts of details from Peter. "Who won the fight?"

"In the end, no one really did, because another mutual friend got involved to stop the fight, along with Nathan."

Hesam had always guessed Peter had some crazy friends, but suddenly, they... _didn't_ seem so bad— _if_ they cared enough to keep their friends from fighting each other, that is.

"I didn't see Peter for a while after that," Sylar said, lightly shrugging one of his shoulders, "because I had to go south of the border for a while and he had to go to Ireland." He wanted to laugh again, though not because of his words, but because of Hesam's priceless expression. "When we did meet again, it was through his mother, and I tried to apologize to him for the fights, but he... _wasn't_ himself at the time, so he began fighting me again nonetheless."

"And..." Hesam lost track of his own words yet to come. He knew that, more than likely, this story was even longer and more complex than Sylar was leading him to believe, but the lack of detail only added to his confusion. "Well," he said, right after taking a sip of his frappuccino through its green straw. "It sounds more like you were rivals for a while than friends."

"Yes, that's hitting the nail on the head, I would say," Sylar said, exhaling a relatively deep breath. "But then, you might also say that by the next time we crossed paths, both our lives had hit rock bottom, and we were both in a very dark place for a while."

"At least you both got out of there, right?"

Sylar huffed again. "While I feel I managed to get out of there, I sometimes don't think Peter really has."

"I know this isn't any of my business," Hesam muttered, staring down at the table. "But... it has a lot to do with Nathan, doesn't it?"

"In some ways, yes," Sylar replied, unconsciously pressing his knuckles against his forehead to lean on his hand for a few seconds. "I must admit I'm not really comfortable talking about that any more than Peter is, though..."

"Sorry," Hesam said, sitting back in his chair, "I know it wasn't my place to ask you about that, or to ask anyone else."

"Is Peter _really_ doing okay from what _you_ know, though?"

Hesam began the process of nodding, but then stopped. "I would say yes but I can't because I really can't say that I'm one to know. Since the day I met Peter, it's like... I don't know, he lives in this 'other world' that no one else's a part of, no one me or any of my friends are a part of, at least."

"I can only imagine what kind of rumors go around about him," Sylar said. He had wondered before, but Peter had never been partial to talking about a day at work in great detail.

"Some really weird stuff's been said about him, but I'm admittedly guilty of that too..." Hesam sighed, taking another sip of his frappuccino. "The sort of stuff that's gone around about Peter at work isn't the usual funny sort of stuff that goes around about most people there," he said, setting his beverage down and reestablishing eye-contact with Sylar. "The rumors about him have generally been on the more bizarre side, ranging anywhere from his secret life in the CIA to his alien origins."

Sylar formed a funny expression, chuckling. "That seems like the usual stupid funny stuff to me."

"It is," Hesam agreed. "But those are just the _generally_ bizarre rumors..."

When Hesam hesitated to go on, Sylar asked, "And what are the generally 'general' rumors, then?"

Hesam muttered, "That he's crazy..."

Sylar smirked, waving his hand at Hesam. "That's nothing, and I've told him that. He's told me that sort of thing was being said about him at work, but I told him people only say that because they have a habit of labeling anything or anyone they can't understand or explain as 'crazy'."

"Agreed," Hesam huffed, feeling rather guilty for having done exactly what Sylar had said on more than one occasion, though he figured everyone had at one point or another. " _But_ ," he said, automatically regaining Sylar's full attention, "it's actually a lot worse than you might know, in Peter's case. Like this one time, he went an entire _month_ without talking to _anyone_ , and everyone else began talking about his test results."

Sylar raised an eyebrow. "Test results?"

"...Never mind."

"Hesam..." Sylar stared at him, impatiently.

"Sylar," Hesam said, calmly. "I know you and Peter are really good friends, or two guys with a lot of history at the very least, and I don't mind telling you funny stories about him from work, but," he shrugged, "personal stories are different."

Sylar frowned, and once again, he didn't get this guy. Hesam was happy, and nice, but not _so_ happy and nice that it was sickening, just annoying. He was also friendly and, to a slightly lesser extent, considerate. He was mature, but not _too_ mature. Sylar supposed the word or words he was looking for were 'functional', 'balanced' and 'normal', which he found to be strange, perhaps only because he had not met anyone who fell into all three of those categories since... well, ever...

So how _did_ one go about manipulating functional, balanced, normal persons?

"How did that test work out for you?" Sylar asked.

"Most would say great," Hesam replied. "And, nice try."

"Nice try at what?"

"Nice try at trying to get me to tell you what kind of test it was by asking me about _my_ results."

"I'm not stupid," Sylar laughed. "It was _obviously_ a psychological assessment of some sort."

"...How did you figure that out?"

Sylar took a sip from his latte cup, held it up, and pointed to it with his other hand. "What kind of cup is this?"

Hesam gave Sylar the odd look. "...a coffee cup?"

Sylar nodded. "So, when you see a coffee cup, what would you normally think its contents were made of?"

"...Coffee?"

Sylar nodded once more.

Hesam sighed. "I don't get this, what's the point?"

"You appear normal, so most people are going to assume you think like a normal person," Sylar replied, throwing one arm over the back of his chair. "In other words, your 'I did great' on the test response coupled with Peter's not-so-great results were all I needed to draw up a rational conclusion."

Hesam nodded, then removing his wallet. "Okay," he said, holding the wallet up. "What do you see here?"

Sylar already appeared bored enough to kill. "A wallet," he said.

"So, what would 'normally' be in it?"

"Money, ID," Sylar said, still appearing bored enough to kill. "Credit cards, debit cards, business cards, membership cards. Photos. Possibly notes."

Hesam tossed the wallet to Sylar, who took a look inside...

"..."

"See," Hesam said, smiling smartly. "Things aren't _always_ as simple as a coffee cup, and even if they are, the cup might have something else in it, or nothing at all." He suddenly turned around. "Hey, I _told_ you we'd run into each other here again, Ernie!" he shouted while waving his hand. Then, he turned to face Sylar once again. "So yeah, that was just my way of saying _I_ never took that test at work in the first place, which is exactly _why_ most _would_ say it worked out great for me."

Sylar set the wallet down, and couldn't help but recoil in his chair. Inaudibly, he whispered, "Did _I_ just get manipulated?"

Hesam chortled. "I'm sorry," he said, placing his wallet back into his pocket. "I didn't mean to come off as a major smartass or anything just then, so I am sorry if that annoyed you."

"No," Sylar said. He was confused, however, and it was showing. "I'm not annoyed, I actually found that metaphorical demonstration very interesting."

"You _really_ like the word 'interesting'."

"That's because I like interesting things."

"You may want to be careful with that," Hesam said, finishing up his frappuccino. "After all, bad things can be interesting, but they can't be good, so even if the good things aren't always interesting, it's still better to put the good stuff _over_ the interesting stuff sometimes."

"I... suppose you sold me on that one," Sylar muttered.

"Hey, watch this!" Hesam held up his empty frappuccino cup, aimed, and threw. "...Score!"

Sylar pushed his empty latte cup forwards. "Try that again," he said, "but this time, don't really try."

"Huh?"

"Take a long shot."

Hesam did, and when the cup _mysteriously_ landed in the garbage can from over ten yards away—when it hadn't even looked like it was going to _make_ it there—he only had one thing to say...

"Huh, well that was interesting."

"Hey, what's with Peter?"

"What _isn't_ with Peter?"

They laughed.

"Nah," James said. "He's hung up on the process."

"What process?"

"Hesam's process."

"Well, hell," Ron said. "As if the guy didn't have it hard enough already."

James turned his head. "Yeah, just _look_ at him over there..."

Peter was seated in the cafeteria, at a table next to the windows, alone (well, _mostly_ alone). He hadn't touched his food, though the window was getting _plenty_ of attention from him.

"Hey," James said silently, gesturing to Peter with a tilt of the head. "Let's go sit with him..."

Ron shook his head, and went right back to eating.

"You chicken?"

Ron nodded. "Yes," he said between bites of his green beans.

"Okay guys, what did I miss?" Manuel asked, taking a seat next to Ron.

Without actually looking to the right, James pointed to the right.

Manuel furrowed his brow, but then took a look. "Peter? What about him?"

James smiled a boastful smile. "He talked to me."

Together, Ron and Manuel laughed.

" _Sure_ ," Ron said, laughing up a storm. "What word or words did _you_ get? 'Fine', or 'fine, thanks'?"

"Hey, that was uncalled for," Manuel said, though he was still laughing nevertheless.

James folded his arms over the table, leaning forwards. "Peter," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, " _gossiped_ , _in_ the ambulance today..."

Ron's eyes widened. "Woah, you _can't_ be serious."

Manuel smirked. "I don't believe it," he said, unwrapping his ham sandwich. "I've worked several shifts with him before and seen him in the locker room plenty of times. He _never_ says anything more than a one word response _unless_ it has to do with his actual job. That's why when he first upgraded to paramedic he was called the ghost."

"Oh yeah, I remember that," Ron uttered. He looked at Peter, who was still staring out the window. "Some of us would be in the locker room, telling a funny story or something, when suddenly... Peter would appear there out of nowhere, just like that... disappearing _just_ as quickly... just like _that_..."

After swallowing a bite of his sandwich, Manuel said, "Uh-huh, it was like he had walked in while invisible, then teleporting away, though I know the main rumor early-on was that he could fly because of the way he'd go up to the roof and be gone when no one had ever seen him come back down the stairs."

"Alien or not, he had a full-fledged, non-work-related conversation with me this morning," James said, "and I _am_ going to prove it so I won't have to pay my rent this month." He gathered his tray, and stood up. "C'mon guys, I need witnesses."

"I really don't want to," Ron muttered.

Manuel bumped Ron with his elbow. "Don't you get it?" he asked, slapping his thigh right over the pocket. "If we don't, James can tell everyone he won the bet, and our wallets will lose fifty bucks apiece. At least this way, we'll know whether or not he's trying to scam us."

"I guess..." Ron sighed, picked up his tray, and along with Manuel, he followed James's lead to the table Peter was seated at...

 _The process... So, what? While I'm at work, Sylar and Hesam just gonna hang-out and 'process' each other all day? I still don't get it—what the hell_ _ **is**_ _the process, again, anyway? Trying to understand someone to make yourself feel better, or something? Everyone's guilty of that in some way, aren't they? Besides, I don't really give a damn if Sylar wants to hang-out with Hesam just to dig up some dirt on my work life, and Hesam only wants to goof off._

Peter nodded to a barely noticeable extent, continuing to stare out the window.

 _That's right, and either way, Sylar and Hesam are_ _ **not**_ _each other's types, friend-wise,_ _ **or**_ _otherwise... Yeah, I should be_ _ **way**_ _more worried about Sylar trying to cut open my friend's head, but hopefully he's just reading some dumb book while Hesam plays some dumb game on his dumb X-Box... Sylar knows better than to open his mouth, anyway..._

Peter blinked a few times, his brow furrowing.

 _...then again, maybe_ _ **Hesam's**_ _using_ _ **Sylar**_ _to dig up dirt on_ _ **me**_ _, and maybe_ _ **Sylar**_ _wants an actual friend so badly he'll_ _ **actually**_ _..._ Peter swallowed. ... _go to a strip club with Hesam, or to dinner... to the movies..._

 _To_ _ **bed**_ _..._

Peter's eyes widened.

 _I'd_ _ **never**_ _thought about it, had I...? I've_ _ **only**_ _been thinking about making sure Sylar doesn't kill again, I've never really thought much about the possibility that he really_ _ **could**_ _leave me any time he feels like it..._

Peter began to fidget.

 _If he_ _ **did**_ _ever leave me, I would... I would just..._

"Die!"

 _ **Bam**_.

Peter jumped in place; spinning at the same time as his back hit the wall.

"Oh, hey Peter." James smiled. "Didn't mean to scare you or anything."

Peter exhaled a long sigh, running a hand back through his hair. "James, what the hell was that for?"

"Oh," James said. He picked up his lunch tray, then pointing at the table. "There was a _gigantic_ roach crawling right next to you."

Peter looked down. "...I see." He shuddered a little on the inside, since something about that roach felt highly symbolic of something he couldn't quite pin; he only knew that whatever the something was, it was bad.

While James took care of the roach's remains, Ron and Manuel took a seat in the chairs across from Peter.

"So," Manuel said.

Peter said nothing.

"Slow day today," Ron said.

Peter said nothing.

"So," Manuel said again. "How you doing, Peter?"

"Fine," Peter said.

"How's your temporary partner working out for you?" Ron asked.

"Fine," Peter said.

"How's your week been so far?" Manuel asked.

"Fine," Peter said.

...

James returned to the table just in time to break the intolerable/tolerable silence. "So," he said, taking a seat in the chair at Peter's left, "have you thought much about what we talked about earlier?"

"Not really," Peter replied. He turned his head, and went right back to staring out the window.

Ron and Manuel both looked at James with matching expressions, painted over in annoyance, _and_ disbelief; the disbelief that James and Peter had engaged in an actual, non-work-related conversation.

"Do you remember what we talked about earlier?" James asked, nudging Peter.

"Yes," Peter said.

Ron whispered something into Manuel's ear, nodding thereafter. "What _did_ you and James talk about this morning, Peter?" he asked.

"Neh," Peter said.

Staring at James, Ron and Manuel smirked in unison.

...

"...Good job on the code blue yesterday, Peter," Manuel complimented. The intolerable silence had become too much for him.

"Thanks," Peter said.

...

Well, damn.

James frowned. "Well what about Hesam and... what's his name, Skyler?"

Peter turned his head away from the window, briefly locking eyes with James. "Everything's fine," he said, gathering his full tray and empty coffee cup. "I really need to get going, nice talking to you guys."

"Yeah," Manuel muttered. "Nice 'talking' to you, too, Peter..."

When Peter began to walk away, James shouted, "Your friend's getting processed _right_ now!"

Peter halted his footing.

"If you're not careful," James went on to say, " _your_ special friend's gonna become _Hesam's_ processed friend."

Peter's grip on his tray tightened. He turned around, slowly walked back to the table, and looked down on his three colleagues. "Guys," he said, sweetly, "I don't really want to talk about this, and you really don't want to either, okay?"

"Okay," Ron and Manuel said in unison. They had been quick to respond.

Peter stared down at James. "Okay?"

James placed one elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, muttering, "Okay..."

"Okay then," Peter said. "See you later." He smiled, nodded, and walked away.

"Holy..." Ron shivered. "I thought he was gonna kick our asses right then."

Manuel rolled his eyes. "I don't think he's a bully, he's just... I don't know, not very social at work."

"If he's this not very social at work, I'd love to see how not very social he is away from work," Ron said, picking here and there at the vegetables on his tray. "No, actually, I wouldn't love to see."

"Well you know how he is," Manuel said, taking another bite from his sandwich while Ron shook his head at him. "He entertains the idea that people are what they are or whatever, so yeah, guess he was just born that way."

"Right." James gathered his tray and stood up. "I'll tell Peter _not_ to be a drag, _just_ to be a queen."

Ron forced a few chortles. "Yeah, you tell him that and he'll kick your ass for _sure_."

"No he wouldn't, because he couldn't."

"...Yeah he could." Manuel laughed, recalling quite a few events. "The guy's ripped off car doors and taken down actual gangsters during in-progress robberies, and I hear he spends most of his time off working _out_. Not to mention, I hear he also has one _hell_ of a nasty temper to go with those killer abs."

James rolled his eyes. "Peter is _harmless_ , and even if he has the ability to beat someone up he would never do it because he has one of those moral compasses that points north."

"Actually, I don't know about that," Manuel said. Peter looked at him and the others from across the cafeteria; chin raised and relatively dark smile on his face, though Manuel was the only one who noticed. "Peter's always struck me as one of those guys with a moral compass that never _stops_ spinning, and while the arrow may pass more slowly over north... if you're around him the split-second it's on south, he _might_ just kill you."

"Well thank you 'Dr.' Perez," James said dramatically. As if there weren't already enough paramedics and nurses trying to play M.D., he thought, shaking his head. "You guys mark my words... I _am_ going to prove Peter Petrelli is talking—make that talking _and_ gossiping— _in_ the ambulance, and I still have the rest of our shift to cover with him."

Ron chortled at him. "What are you gonna do, James?" he asked, imitating a camera with his hands. "Catch him on Candid?"

"I just might," James replied. Ron only laughed at him again, while Manuel waved a hand at him. That didn't matter, because he was going to prove them wrong. "Like we all know," he said pointedly, "Peter Petrelli _is_ doing something on the down low, and if it's not drugs or hits for the mafia, _or_ the new Dr. Coolidge, it's _gotta_ be a guy..."

"Well," Ron began, removing his wallet, and from it, a ten dollar bill. "I still say he's not from around here, so I'm sticking with secret identity via alien or spy, identity theft, or witness protection."

Manuel slapped a ten on the table. "I'm still sticking with messed-up childhood and/or Borderline PD."

"And _I'm_ still sticking with average Joe on the down low with a dude," James said, thus walking away from the table and into his next scheme...

 _ **Scene 0:**_ _Whose Line is it, Anyways?_

 _ **.o.**_

"So, what kind of movies do you like?"

"I'm actually more partial to books."

"Even so, you still gotta watch movies sometimes, right?"

"Not especially."

"But surely you have before."

"Of course I have."

"Well, what do you like?"

"I would guess anything with a plot that does not involve general, all-around idiocy."

"...That really narrows down the choices, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Huh, look at that."

"What about it?"

"Does it look any good?"

"Hmm... well... the plot sounds interesting enough, but it doesn't really seem like it would make too much sense when you _actually_ watch it..."

"Ha, so you _do_ watch movies!"

"What was that supposed to mean?"

"You've obviously seen it."

"No, I haven't."

"That was a lie."

"And how would you know whether or not _I_ was lying?"

"Lie-detection is a special ability of mine."

"...No, it's not."

"You've still seen it, and I know it, and I know it because you are definitely a suspense-thriller type of guy, maybe an old-age, medieval type who'd give stuff based around the times of King Arthur and Becket a run."

"...You've read those?"

"Well, hell, who hasn't?"

"Interesting..."

" _Don't_ say 'interesting', like I said, when you want to say 'interesting', say something else instead."

"Right, I'll just say interesting things are 'something else'."

"I didn't mean 'something else' _literally_ , I meant like... you know, 'cool', 'awesome', 'slamming,' 'tight', exedra."

"That's stupid."

"Just give it a try, will you? Remember what you said about theorizing and testing?"

"Fine, but like I said, in place of words like 'cool', 'awesome', 'slamming', and 'tight', _you_ have to say 'interesting', then."

"Okay, I will!"

"Alright."

"Hey... check out that one over there... damn, she is so, _so_ 'interesting'."

"She looks so, _so_ amazingly 'cool' to me."

"I know, and... _ssh_ , she's coming over here. Play cool, I mean, 'interesting'."

"Alright."

...

"Hey guys..."

"Hey."

"Hello."

"Take your time, I don't know what I want yet."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, we're just looking for something... 'interesting'."

"Really? Like what?"

"We want something that's really 'cool'."

"Hmm, well, have you seen the new Jackass?"

"...Excu—"

" _ **Yes**_ , that movie is really, really... interesting..." _Nudge_. "...Right?"

"Yeah, it's cool."

"I know, right?"

"Hey, you two gonna pick something or what?"

"Oh, yeah. We are. Hmm... well, how about _that_ one?"

"Well it looks... slamming and," he lowered his voice, "tight, but..."

"But what?"

"...Just get the damn thing."

"Okay, interesting."

"Cool, let's go."

"You two are _so_ cute."

"Thanks, so are you. I like you're top, it's really interesting."

" _Aww_ , thanks!"

"Yes, and your watch is 'hot'."

"You are _too_ adorable."

"Yeah, I love how he accessorizes the different shades of black, too, so can you guys hurry up?"

"Hey! Now that was so _not_ interesting."

"...Are you nuts?"

"You _shut_ your fucking mouth or I'm gonna show _you_ how to 'accessorize' the different shades of _red_ , asshole. ...We cool on that?"

"..."

"Cool. See ya'."

"Hey, you guys got numbers?"

"Hell yeah."

"Yes, we do have phone numbers."

"Well, here's mine for you to use yours on."

"Interesting."

"Awesome."

"Sexy."

"Even _more_ interesting."

"Really cool. And your watch really _is_ hot, and I'd love to... get all up in that thang?"

"Oh, that's a _definite_ possibility..."

"So, are you weirdoes going to 'get all outta here' now?

...

" _Woah!_ "

"Oh my _God!_ "

"Come on, let's go."

"But _woah_ , that runaway shopping cart hit that guy out of nowhere! It practically ran him over!"

"Huh. Guess it's 'the weird stuff'."

"Guess so... but that was the most interesting trip to Redbox I've ever had."

"That actually was relatively cool for my first trip to Redbox."

"I'm still gonna set up Netflix at Peter's apartment."

"Cool," Sylar said.

"Yeah, interesting," Hesam said.

"That's your line now, I suppose."

"What's your line, then?"

"It's cool."

 _Laugh_.

"Interesting."

 _Laugh._

0.0.0

"Emma," Peter said, standing in the doorway. "...I have a problem."

"Is it with Sylar again?"

"Nah, well, sort of," Peter replied, solemnly. He shut the door behind him, and was about to sit down on one of the exam beds, but he realized he had forgotten something _very_ important. Thus, he closed the blinds, and _then_ he sat down.

"Peter..."

"Yes?"

"Didn't we talk about that?"

"About what?"

Emma sighed. "The hiding thing."

"Hiding thing," Peter muttered. He snapped his fingers. "Oh, _that_. Really, nobody cares, and I just don't want people spying on us or eavesdropping, because it could give them ideas."

"I think they are getting ideas," Emma said. Peter looked at her questionably, and she could only sigh again, breaking eye-contact with him just long enough to scribble something down on her clipboard. Then, she looked up. "Peter, when you ask me to come into exam rooms with you and then pull the blinds down, that's giving everyone ideas."

"Huh?" Peter blinked. "Oh, about us?" he asked, chuckling. "That's not a big deal, as long as they're not getting ideas about our abilities."

"Well, what is it you wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know if you've heard, but Hesam's crashing at my apartment for several days."

"...While Sylar's there?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, that's the problem."

Emma knew it was a problem, really, especially whereas Sylar was concerned. In the past, he'd had little to no respect for 'people with abilities who were weak', and even lesser respect for 'people who were not special'. She also knew, however, that Sylar wasn't that guy anymore, and that she could not allow herself to form opinions on the man who had ultimately saved her life based on what others who still bore grudges against him had to say.

Funnily enough, Peter was guiltier of slandering Sylar than anyone else was, though if anyone else resorted to similar tactics, Peter would always make sure they silenced themselves abruptly so _he_ wouldn't have to resort to silencing them himself through violent means. Because of this among other factors, Emma knew how much Peter _truly_ cared for Sylar, but what she couldn't understand was _why_ Peter wouldn't admit it.

"Peter," she said, shaking her head a little. "You're not really worried about Hesam, are you?"

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"You're worried about Sylar, aren't you?"

Quickly, Peter replied, "No, of course not." After a moment of silence and a moment of Emma staring him down, he muttered, "Okay, I sort of am..."

Emma nodded; taking a seat across from Peter, on the other bed located within the exam room. "And why is that?"

"Well... it sort of has to do with something some of the guys were telling me about Hesam and this 'process'..."

"Process?"

"Yeah," Peter said, placing the palms of his hands on his knees. "Not that I _believe_ any of that hearsay that goes around about anyone here or anything like that, but I've had _several_ guys all telling me the _same_ story today, which was about Hesam's 'process'." An odd expression surfaced upon his face. "Supposedly, he likes to play hero for guys and show them a good time, but it's only part of his plan to make them feel good so he can feel good about himself, and once he's achieved his goal, he kicks the guy to the curb so he can do the same thing with someone new, and he does this over and over and over again."

"...Peter, that's—"

"And I hadn't really thought about it, but it's _true_ ," he said, almost as if he were talking to himself and not Emma. "Hesam always keeps in touch with all his friends, but he only pays a lot of attention to someone in particular for _so_ long until he just... I don't know, starts paying all that attention to someone _else_."

"Peter, that's—"

"And I also hadn't thought about it either," he said, staring at the wall behind Emma, "but Sylar _does_ work a similar process, only for him, it's more about understanding a person to make himself feel better before he moves onto the next, though Hesam's allegedly doing that, too..."

"Peter, that's really—"

"Messed-up, I know," he said, smirking loudly. "But what's _more_ messed-up is that I never saw it before, and I gotta tell you, Emma... If Sylar and Hesam really are out there, right now," his eyes shifted, " _processing_ one another... then maybe they're gonna do that thing that happens to three friends where two of them team up to poke jokes and stuff at the _other_ friend..."

"Peter, you—"

"Need to do something about it, yeah," he said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Emma. "You're absolutely right. I just don't know exactly what to do, since I've never been in this situation before, you know... where my coworker's trying to 'get to know' my... yeah or whatever..."

" _Peter_ , are you—"

"No, definitely not," he stated, folding his arms across his chest. "Just because I'm a guy who slept with a guy who's gay doesn't make _me_ gay, right?"

Emma just stared. "..."

"Right," Peter said, nodding firmly before a brief moment's silence went by. "...Right, Emma?"

"Peter," she said, exhaling a _very_ deep breath of air. "I know what you're really worried about, and honestly, I think you're just using this 'process' issue to give yourself an excuse to be upset with Hesam and Sylar so you don't have to be upset with yourself over your own feelings."

His head tilted to the side. "...What?"

"I know it's none of my business, but as your friend _and_ a friend of Sylar's, it's my opinion that if you don't move past denial and into acceptance that Sylar is more to you than a..." She held up three fingers, forming the symbol in sign language for the letter 'F'. "...then you just _might_ lose him, Peter."

He looked away. "Sylar would never walk out on me, not for Hesam, or anyone else," he whispered.

"I may not be able to hear you, but something tells me you didn't sound very sure of yourself just now."

"Well what am I supposed to do?" he asked, hoping his voice hadn't produced any red sound waves or anything, since he knew he _had_ sounded ruder than he had intended. "Am I just supposed to gather all of my friends up and make an announcement to all of them that I'm 'in love' with a guy they either hate or don't know?"

"If your relationship with 'that guy' is important enough to you, maybe you should," she replied.

"I can't do that," he said under his breath. "Everyone— _including_ Sylar—would only laugh at me, or tell me I'm insane, and anyway..." He folded his arms again. "I'm really _not_ worried that Sylar's gonna fall for _Hesam_ of all people because the idea of that is even _more_ insane than _I_ am for having thought for even a _split-second_ that _they_ could become so much as friends."

"You're not insane for—"

"Anything, I know," he said happily, smiling. "Thanks, Emma. I _knew_ I could count on you to help me straighten things out, and now, I know _just_ what to do..."

Emma groaned inaudibly. Once Peter got to know someone, he sure did love to move his mouth sometimes.

"And what's that?" she asked.

"I am gonna spy on Sylar and Hesam, and find out more about this 'process' stuff," he said before he stood up, walking to the exam room door.

He then looked back at Emma, smiled brightly, and in sign language, he said, "Thanks talk for never I could done it out with help that of yours."

Emma sighed. Peter didn't really know how to please a woman with his hands, it seemed. She knew that had been a crude thought, but what Peter did not know was that she'd had a number of talks with Sylar, and while—as a loyal friend—she didn't want to offend Peter or get involved in his personal business, she _did_ think that what he was doing to Sylar _was_ relatively cruel.

And the fact that _Peter Petrelli_ would _actually_ gossip at work about his coworkers... that said a _lot_.

"I'm glad I could help you," Emma said with a smile.

In sign language, Peter said, "You are the best, thank you for having that glove with me."

Emma chuckled. "You're welcome, Peter."

Smile on his face, Peter opened the exam room door, and stepped out into the hallway.

...To see seven different guys trying to peek through a single crack in the blinds, all at once.

Peter's smile turned upside down.

He was going to have to start having his talks with Emma in the _storage closet_ , wasn't he?

0.0.0

"So, what is this place, exactly?"

"Some of the guys and me came here after one of my friend's friends insisted it would be a lot of laughs."

"And was it?" Sylar asked.

Hesam smiled at him. "Definitely," he said, holding up the small booklet which had been on the table. "Trust me, you won't _ever_ forget this."

Sylar shrugged. What the hell, he thought. Even though this seemed more on the ridiculous side than the fun side, maybe it _would_ be eventful in _some_ way. He was about to ask Hesam for more details regarding the strange club they were currently in, when suddenly, the lights dimmed, and the music started.

"Oh _yeah_ ," Hesam said, sitting back in his red, cushioned chair.

The lights began to flash on and off, from blue to red and back again. As the lights flashed, the starry curtains on stage parted, and a man stepped into view—wearing handcuffs, and a blindfold. Also a very, very odd spandex uniform.

Sylar raised an eyebrow. Before when he had thought 'what the hell' he had been thinking along the lines of 'why not', but now... seriously, what.. the.. hell?

"Hesam," he whispered. "...What the hell is this?"

"Ssh, just listen, it's about to get really good."

Eyebrow still raised, Sylar slowly turned in his chair; away from Hesam and toward the stage.

The ebony-haired man on stage continued to stand there, in silence, before then, the star-imprinted curtains behind him parted; revealing some sort of... wall... a brick wall. Some rather bizarre music sounded from the speakers, and a set of women—who appeared to be identical twins—walked through the wall; the papier-mâché bricks scattering around them. In gypsy outfits, the blonde twins approached the man on stage, dancing while snapping their fingers.

A large cloud of smoke filled the air around the performers, and suddenly, the man on stage was free of both his handcuffs, and the blindfold. Also, a microphone on a silver stand had appeared before him.

"What the?" Sylar muttered. He knew that, even if he wasn't the sanest person on Earth, this was still very, very out there; even for him.

Into the microphone, the man on stage said, "Some instances noted at this time were of snakes being found frozen on the road, chickens refusing to enter their coops, pigs rooting at their fences, cows breaking their halters and escaping... rats appeared to behave as though drunk."

Sylar blinked. Wow, _that_ had been from Van Nostrand's _Scientific Encyclopedia_.

"The study of abnormality often sheds light on the workings of the normal," the man on stage said, throwing one of his arms into the air, looking up. "The fear creates a dreamlike state; it helps to see the concrete world corroborated." He threw his other arm up, staring straight ahead as his hands fisted. "The place-specific notations seem to demonstrate an effort to maintain a sense of reality and a sense of identity while in transit, as if my identity and sense of control were at risk, as if I were, like a Star Trek character, being "beamed" from one location to another, with my molecular reconstruction at the new location less than certain..."

"Huh." Sylar tilted his head. This was so... "Cool."

Hesam whispered, "I know, this _is_ interesting, right?"

The young man on stage picked up the microphone. "When within these settings, alien creatures appear, horrifying diseases are unleashed, and psychotic transformations occur, everyday life is gradually unmasked as potentially out of control and horrific," he said into the mic, huskily. "For the suggestible among us it can take an entire night of bad dreams to reinstate a sense of normality."

He extended an arm, curling the fingers of his hand slowly, one by one. "If we stop to think about it, we even bond with our most trivial possessions, some of which over time become tied to us through such a complex network of associations and memories that they seem almost to possess souls," he said, the wall behind him beginning to crumble, the glitter beginning to rain down. "The phobic response is inextricably blended with emotions and thoughts of death, separation, and loneliness. The psychological and cognitive impact is real, and so is the aspect of reality—this precariousness of existence—that is stirred in the consciousness of the sufferer. I remember the strange, sad, and doom-laden expression on my father's face..."

Sylar continued to watch the show with interest and even fascination, while Hesam continued to watch with glee and amusement.

From behind the man on stage, fiery red flames shot up from the golden figures on the floor in front of the crumbling wall. "One listens for a reassuring sound and hears nothing. On the one hand, this is the most adult of feelings, being face-to-face with nothingness. On the other hand, it is something utterly primal, animal, and infantile, as a sensation of... abandonment." Another cloud of smoke engulfed him, and when that smoke began to clear away, he was floating—in the air—by the transparent wires which were seemingly propelling him from the glitter-sheathed floor. "But then one also has to be prepared to dismantle all that has grown up around these fears and to face their personal significance and usefulness. Then, all the dark images and memories turn into a thick cloud of smoke easily whisked back into the bottle of the imagination," he said, a crash of thunder ringing forth through the building as bright lights flashed throughout it. "I observe this lightening of my load with amazement..."

The wall behind him blasted to pieces; the papier-mâché bricks littering the stage.

The curtains closed, and the lights dimmed; fading to blackness.

The audience, at this point, began to applaud. Or snap their fingers.

"...That was," Sylar whispered, his jaw gaping, "... _amazing_."

Hesam turned his head to face Sylar. "See," he said, smiling as he nodded. "What did I tell you?"

"I'm not sure I remember right now but I'd love to hear you repeat it."

Hesam couldn't remember, either. Thus, he opened the pamphlet on the table, and read away...

0.0.0

"Well well well... is someone _actually_ looking at their cell, _in_ the ambulance?"

"...We have like, a whole ten minutes before our shift starts again, so it's not... that big of a deal..."

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Keep talking Peter, James thought. "So... what are you doing on that cell-phone of yours, anyway?"

"Nothing," Peter muttered, though he was clearly using the touch-screen features.

"You wouldn't happen to be..." James smiled big. "...using a GPS feature, would you?"

"...No."

James sat back, once again watching that mental television of his. "You know," he said, closing his eyes and emitting a rather euphoric sigh. "You have every right in the world to be using that feature if you are..."

Peter said nothing; only continued to stare down at his phone, punching in something on the keypad.

James waited, patiently. He knew what was coming, and here it came...

"What the..." Peter murmured, his dark eyes widening.

"Hesam took your buddy to one of those really, really crazily fun places, didn't he?" James asked, knowingly. "God help him if it's one of those psychic reading places, the scientology lab, the assessment center, or even one of those bizarre poetry book-club readings."

"...And... what if it is?"

"Then it appears we just found out _who_ the 'weaker link' between your two friends is," James said, "and it is _not_ Hesam." He presented the poor soul next to him with a _very_ apologetic look. "Also, if your buddy's single, Hesam probably _will_ try to set him up with a hot girl before this is all over—that's also part of his process."

Peter growled. "Alright. That is _it_." He turned his head to the left, looking James in the eyes; poking _him_ in the shoulder this time around. "Hesam is a fucking _fruitcake_ and whatever the _hell_ it is he's up to I am gonna stop it _before_ he has to chance to run my 'buddy' through that goddamn process!"

 _Damn_.

James whistled. "Why so angry, Peter my friend?"

"Because," Peter seethed, his eyes narrowing. "Hesam is trying to...!" Wait, he couldn't finish that sentence... Not the way he had initially intended to finish it, at least. "...He's up to somethin' bad—I just know it—and I am gonna go stop it right _now_."

"...Wait... are-are you..." James couldn't believe it. No. It wasn't... it _wasn't_ possible. "Are you..." He swallowed. "Are _you_ actually going to _take off from work_...?"

Peter opened the ambulance door, pushing it open with an unnecessary amount of force. "I guess I am," he replied, hopping out to the pavement.

James stared at him; eyes widened, face paled, jaw dropped. There were no words for this. The apocalypse was officially here...

"...Oh, and if you say anything about this to our colleagues, I'm _going_ to have to kick your ass," Peter said, slamming the door.

And oh, what to do now? What was James to do? Would he respect Peter's wishes, do the mature, friendly thing and keep his mouth shut... or, did he reveal his official 'proof', collect his winnings... and the possible ass-kicking?

"...Peter could _never_ kick my ass."

He was going with the latter.

0.0.0

"Okay, I must admit... I truly do not see this point to this."

"You didn't see the point to the last place, either, and that worked out interestingly enough, didn't it?"

Sylar chuckled. "I suppose it did."

A door opened, as a voice called out, "Gabriel Gray, Hesam Malik?"

"That's us," Hesam stated, as he and Sylar stood from their seats in the waiting room. "By the way, Sylar, you still haven't told me what's up with the whole pseudonym-thing."

"I'll explain it later."

Sylar and Hesam followed the woman into the back, where a variety of different rooms were located.

"Alright," she said, looking down at the clipboard in her hands. "Mr. Gray, you're in," she pointed to her right, "this room, and Mr. Malik, you're in the room three doors down."

"Cool, I mean, 'interesting'," Hesam said in a perky voice. "That's just like the band, isn't it?"

Sylar said, "Then what...?"

Hesam chortled. "I'll explain _that_ to you later," he said, holding up his hand. "Well, good luck."

When Hesam stared at his own hand, to Sylar, and back to his hand again, Sylar looked at him oddly. He sighed, grabbed Sylar by the wrist, and turned the palm of his hand upright; giving him 'five'.

"Oh," Sylar muttered.

Thus, he entered one room, while Hesam entered another.

Having already taken the papers the female employee had handed him, Sylar shut the door, and took a look around the room he was standing in. There were some interesting—or 'other' word—posters plastered all over the white walls, to the point where there were more posters than white on those walls.

"Huh," Sylar uttered, shrugging. "It's slamming, I guess."

He took a seat in the single chair behind the single desk. He was about to pick of one of the writing instruments from the pencil holder, but then, remembered he did not require one; not when one bore the ability of thoughtography. However, thinking back to the way he had killed Joe Macon... he didn't want to think about it... While he had yet to tell Peter his real reasons for toning down the use of his abilities... whenever he did use them now, since having moved in with Peter while trying to move on from his past in the process, he was reminded of however it was he _had_ acquired the ability in use _and_ the person it had originated from.

It didn't matter. It wasn't as if Peter was interested in his feelings, anyway, because 'Sylar' only had 'thoughts', and not 'feelings'. Humph, he would show Peter, teach him another long-overdue lesson...

Getting back down to current affairs, however, Sylar placed the papers on the surface of the wooden desk, and his hand over the paper. A luminous, golden glow surrounded his hand as, one by one, he answered the questions, and imprinted away...

Meanwhile, Hesam was in the process of bubbling away, although with a pencil; which was strangely a #3 pencil and not a #2, but all-in-all, he knew this wasn't a typical day.

For him, it was just a typical day of the week.

 _-Please answer the following questions honesty, and to the best of your ability._

"I'm obviously doing that," Sylar said.

"Like they're gonna know if someone doesn't," Hesam said.

 _1\. I am very talkative in most social situations._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Well," Sylar mumbled. "Around people I know, perhaps, but not in most situations, I suppose..."

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Well," Hesam mumbled. "...of course." He laughed.

 _2\. To a great extent, my life is controlled by accidental happenings._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"No, there are no accidents in fate, just the tactical coincidences hidden by the mask of life," Sylar said.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"This is obviously one of those spirituality questions," Hesam said.

 _3\. I will consider myself successful if, and only if, I've accomplished certain things in my life._

 _Yes_

 _No_

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Anyone in their right mind _knows_ how to answer that."

 _Yes_

 _No_

Hesam rolled his eyes. "Anyone who says yes to this one has self-esteem issues."

 _4\. I often place other's needs ahead of my own._

 _Yes_

 _No_

Sylar frowned. " _Everyone's_ ultimately out for themselves most of the time..."

 _Yes_

 _No_

Hesam smiled. "Any good guy does."

 _5\. Sometimes I get caught up in my daydreams._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"People who spend _all_ of their time daydreaming are ultimately people who can't make things happen," Sylar muttered. "...but _everyone_ gets caught up in them _sometimes_ because _everyone_ likes to dream about what they _are_ going to make happen, and Peter can _definitely_ make things happen."

 _Yes_

 _No_

"That's not practical, I live in the real world," Hesam said. "...but L-O-L, I know how Peter would answer this."

 _6\. Most people abandon their moral standards in difficult situations._

 _Yes_

 _No_

Sylar huffed. "Not _every_ hero's last name is Nakamura."

 _Yes_

 _No_

Hesam titled his head. "Most people at least _try_ not to, don't they?

 _7\. When faced with challenging problems, I often have trouble finding a solution._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"No," Sylar said. "Live or die, the choice is mine, and the solution's always one or the other."

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Well, hell," Hesam said. "I'm not a doctor."

 _8\. I see the things that I own as expressions of who I am._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Hmm, possibly, but my abilities don't define everything about me," Sylar said. Then his eyes shifted. "...much less my watch."

 _Yes_

 _No_

"My electronics and great clothes are totally expressions of who I am," Hesam said.

 _9\. I always notice what people are wearing._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Yeah," Sylar said.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Nah," Hesam said.

 _10\. I would describe myself as an optimist._

 _Yes_

 _No_

Sylar smirked. "I'm a _rationalist_."

 _Yes_

 _No_

"I'm an idealist." Hesam smiled.

 _11\. I believe most people are honest._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Most people are idiots who aren't even honest with themselves." Sylar sighed.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Hmm, well, many people are secretive, but that doesn't make them liars, and 'most people' _aren't_ politicians or psychopaths." Hesam shrugged.

 _12\. I am satisfied with how I view myself._

 _Yes_

 _No_

 _-_ _Are you_ _?_

Sylar wasn't answering _that_ trick-question; he was too smart for _that_. _That_ was a black and white question, and as something _always_ either was _or_ wasn't, _that_ was a trick question...

 _Yes_

 _No_

Hesam bubbled away. "Round it down to a darker shade of grey and it would be a no," he said, "but I'm in the lighter shades, so yeah."

 _13\. Other people see me as kind and gentle._

 _Yes_

 _No_

To the piece of paper, Sylar whispered, "I'm about to tear you up."

 _Yes_

 _No_

Hesam pat the piece of paper. "I should hope so."

 _14\. When I get what I want, it's often because of luck, or other factors out of my control._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Real men make their own luck," Sylar said.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"This reminds me of that _Titanic_ quote," Hesam said.

 _15\. I like to carefully consider every alternative before I do something._

 _Yes_

 _No_

Sylar nodded. "It's always a good idea to consider the variables, one always has to account for variable change, and there _are_ alternatives to killing people..."

 _Yes_

 _No_

Hesam shook his head. "Spend too much time thinking like _that_ and a person would literally drive themselves nuts with that jazz."

 _16\. I am very social._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Some people don't know _when_ to stop talking," Sylar muttered.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Some people really _should_ talk more," Hesam said.

 _17\. I spend a lot of time trying to avoid failure._

 _Yes_

 _No_

Sylar hissed. "Only a loser wouldn't."

 _Yes_

 _No_

Hesam chuckled. "I spend more time thinking about how I can succeed than how I'm gonna avoid failing."

 _18\. I find public displays of affection annoying._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"It _is_ annoying," Sylar said.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Why would it be annoying?" Hesam asked.

 _19\. I care more about how things look than how they work._

 _Yes_

 _No_

" _That_ **is** ridiculous," Sylar stated.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"It's not like people are machines, and machines aren't even puzzles," Hesam stated.

 _20\. I tend to focus on what I should do more than what I want to do._

 _Yes_

 _No_

 _-_ _This is another trick question, as people should want to do what they should do and should do what they want to do if they are, in fact, normal human beings._

Sylar smirked.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"...What?" Hesam blinked.

 _21\. I can usually understand what other people are feeling._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Of course I can understand," Sylar said. "Understanding what a person is feeling is different from relating to it or actually feeling it."

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Most people tell me I don't have a clue." Hesam giggled.

 _22\. I normally respect other's authority._

 _Yes_

 _No_

 _-_ _This questions in itself is contradictive, as a person should ideally acknowledge the authority they have over their own lives in contrast to whatever authority others may or may not have upon them._

Sylar wondered what idiot had designed this test.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"I don't get it," Hesam whispered to himself. "Do they mean the cops?"

 _23\. I enjoy spending time engaging myself in abstract thinking._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Absolutely," Sylar said. "Without conceptual thinking the implausibility of yesterday wouldn't be the reality of today."

 _Yes_

 _No_

Hesam laughed. "Maybe when I'm drunk."

 _24\. I often think in shades of grey, rather than black and white._

 _Yes_

 _No_

 _-_ _This test is clearly biased toward cluster B, and when do you people tend to upgrade to DSM-V, anyway?_

Sylar shook his head again. This was pathetic.

 _Yes_

 _No_

"Yep," Hesam said. "Too much black and white thinking will give you the crazies."

 _25\. I enjoy rough sex._

 _Yes_

 _No_

"...What the hell?" Sylar uttered. That question was _not_ cool.

 _Yes_

 _No_

 _-_ _Is she hot?_

Hesam laughed out loud. That question _was_ interesting.

 _ **Fifteen minutes later...**_

 _-(Optional) Please write a brief description of your thoughts on this test._

 _-If you had asked me to rate it on a scale, my rating would be a '1'—regardless of the numbers included in that scale—because, as I have stated, it was highly biased toward dramatic and eccentric behavioral patterns, and as so many of the questions incorporated the words 'sometimes' and 'if' into them, one would be inclined to answer them based on what they 'honestly' believe and not what they 'honestly' know... which, I assume, was the overall goal of this test: to prove no one actually 'knows' anything about themselves and thus must have 'something' wrong with them._

Sylar sat back.

 _-It was okay._

Hesam sat back.

When Sylar exited the room, Hesam was already waiting outside.

"So," Hesam said, snazzily. "What did you think of that?"

"To be honest, I don't really see how anything 'cool' can come of 'that'," Sylar replied.

...However, something really, _really_ cool **did** come of it.

As Sylar and Hesam walked out the set of automatic, double doors, Sylar said, "I still cannot believe this."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't think it was possible."

Hesam laughed. "Well, clearly reality begged to differ."

"So what does reality have to say now?" Sylar. He didn't even know. And that was a new one for him.

"It says," Hesam said, standing still on the sidewalk, holding up his hand, "that we _are_ gonna go and celebrate."

Sylar gave him five.

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please drop me a review if you have something nice to say!


End file.
